The Cost of Lamentations
by raining-down-hearts
Summary: A sudden tragedy threatens to rip apart Maka's life, and she has no idea how to cope- she didn't think she'd be dealing with a dead parent for decades, but now she's alone in the world, and it stings, despite all of Soul's attempts at comfort. Can his love help her rise past herself and her pride, or will she fall to the grief and stay locked alone for life?
1. Chapter 1

Thinking back on it that night, finally in bed after the longest day of his life, Soul remembered the coffee. That was the first thing that had gone wrong; they were out of coffee grounds, and Maka had a meltdown as they rushed to get ready for class, drooping dramatically all around the apartment in a vicious caffeine withdrawal. She always had to have coffee for morning classes, and he knew exactly how she liked it, two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a good dose of sweet creamer. Sometimes she added whipped cream, but only if it was in one of her opaque thermoses where nobody else could see her indulgence.

That was how she made her coffee in the mornings, at home with him. When they went out for coffee with their friends, though, she always got it plain and black. It made him smirk to see her force it down and pretend she liked it.

The rest of the day was long, and he cringed into his hands as he remembered snapping something mean at her as she yawned for the millionth time, probably trying to pretend that seeing her little pink tongue curl and hearing her tired squeaks didn't make him burn. Of all days he wished he hadn't been an asshole to her, this was number one. After, they'd come home and settled into their normal routine; complain about the messy house, argue about whose turn it was to cook dinner, argue about what to _make_ for dinner, various lecherous remarks on his part, a book to the brain, quick fingers pulling a pigtail, sly little smiles from both ends and begrudgingly bringing out homework. Then the phone rang and it was Blair, frantic, gasping and breathless like a woman being tortured, sobbing out over and over, "Spirit! Spirit! Spirit!" The witch was so loud he'd been able to hear her easily through the phone Maka held and at first he hadn't realized, hadn't been able to make sense of it, but somehow Maka knew right away. Her face went ghastly white, except for two feverish spots of terrible color burning high on her cheeks.

She wouldn't let him go with her to her father's place. He had scoffed and begged and finally ordered, yelled at her a little, telling her there was no way in hell she could drive, but her eyes were very green and wet, like a swamp. She used her meister voice on him but beneath the command was a desperate plea, so he growled and let her go. It felt like ripping his arm off. It was the first time she'd driven his bike without him along for the ride and he paced endlessly, waiting and gnawing his nails, until she made it home safely, hours later. His meister swayed through the doorway and fended off his reaching arms like a wildcat, shrieking at him unintelligibly before fleeing to her room. Soul immediately parked himself in the hallway until she commanded him to go to bed, meister voice shaky through her door.

The damn coffee was the first thing that went wrong, and he made a mental note to get up early tomorrow and get her more. Hell, he'd even make it and have a full hot pot ready to go for her whenever she woke up. He'd buy the good shit, the expensive, caramel flavored fancy kind she rarely bought herself. Breakfast, too, because he knew for a fact she hadn't eaten anything today except a piece of toast. She was skinny enough already. Well, skinny, but still definitely hot... inappropriate distractions. He pushed them away. What time did stores open? He rolled over and squinted blearily at his alarm clock- they definitely didn't open at two in the morning. He doubted he'd be able to sleep anyway, but he set the alarm for five just in case and then burrowed into his blankets, sighing.

The position didn't last. Within a minute he was sitting back up, ear to the wall that separated his room from Maka's, straining to hear, but there was nothing. No crying, no screaming, nothing. It made him nervous, so he tried to feel her through the bond, as slyly as he could, but all that came through was a vague and blurry wash of exhaustion and hurt. She was awake, though, he could tell that much through it. Their light resonance was always there, amplified during battle, a massive crescendo during Witch Hunter, a dark moody note when they were in the black room. He found himself humming along to it sometimes, to the soft buzzes of her emotions, but right now it sounded like an elegy.

He wanted to go to her so damn bad that he felt his skin tighten with the effort of staying put. He realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to stop. She'd be able to tell he was awake, too, if she tried, and he supposed theoretically she could come to him too. She wouldn't though. She faked a love for bitter black coffee and never showed fear and the stupid stubborn mule of a woman would be the death of him one day, he knew it.

On second thought, he would try to get ahold of her mother again when he got up to buy her coffee. The difference in tome zones should be about right for her to be up. Maybe this time she would answer. Everyone knew Kami and Spirit hadn't been on speaking terms in years, but there were probably all kinds of legal things to deal with. Well- he didn't know, they had been divorced after all, but she should be there for her daughter for once in her damn life. He'd never met Kami but he did believe he hated her a little. Maka thought _his _family was bad. Sitting like a sentry against his wall, he watched as the moon slid slowly down the sky outside the window, teeth dripping scarlet.

He sat there in bed with his shaggy white head to the wall until his clock read 4:59, and then he pounced on it before it could make noise, because by the mercy of something truly wonderful she was finally asleep. _Okay. Opposite of Black Star. Sneaky... This'll be easy. Just be cool. _He took a deep breath and everything went fine until he tripped over the goddamn living room table.

He hadn't turned the lights as he snuck out on because he didn't want to wake her, but as he tripped on the table and felt the hopeless tumble of his body he took slight comfort in the fact that he'd managed to stifle his vehement curse. She did hate cursing. His skull twinged in response to the very thought.

He groaned and sat up after crashing to the floor. His eyes burned as the lights flicked to life and he saw Maka peering at him from the hall, wide-eyed, hair disheveled.

"Soul? What are you doing?" Her voice was normal and it freaked him right the hell out.

"I- uh- coffee. We're out."

She squinted at him, and he noticed with a pang that her eyes were rimmed in red. "You don't drink coffee. You don't get up at five in the morning either. What's going on?" He just stared at her, completely lost for words. _So that's how she wants this to go? No. No way in hell. She'll implode. _Their resonance was a buzzing whirl that he couldn't make head nor tail of, and her face was positively inscrutable, despite the reddened nose that told of tears. She looked at him for a moment longer, rubbing a hand up and down her arm, then turned around to go back to her room.

"I don't really want coffee," she tossed back over her shoulder. "But you should probably start getting ready for school, since you're awake and all. I don't want to be late." She didn't want coffee. She heard her own stunned voice in her head, yesterday, asking the police officer who'd come to her father's house with the ambulance; would he like a cup of coffee? He was welcome to wait in the living room. She'd reverted to politeness and let it hold her like a puppetmaster when she didn't know what else to do.

He scrambled up and ran after her, just catching her elbow as she went to swing through her doorway. "Maka- wait. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry." She shook like a willow in his hand, looking away. "Come on, there's no way we're going to school today. No one expects that." He felt his thumb stroking circles on her skin and forced himself to stop.

She raised an eyebrow smoothly and he thought that she should play poker; no one else would feel her shaking, since not many people were allowed to touch her, and her face showed nothing. "I expect it," she told him harshly, and tore out of his grasp, shutting the door to her room firmly in his face. He leaned against it, fists clenching.

Stupid girl. Stupid firecracker Maka, who had gotten so used to hiding her fear in front of real monsters that she couldn't handle it anymore in her own life. He pounded one first against her door, not caring if she heard, and stalked off to take a shower, worrying one thumbnail angrily as he went.

She came downstairs a while later to find him leaning on his bike, holding a steaming plastic cup of coffee from the mini market down the street. He handed it to her with a look that said quite plainly there would be hell to pay if she protested. Her perfect pigtails would make even Kid proud, her boots were spotlessly clean and her face scrubbed clean of all stray traces of tears. He made a face as he noticed a touch of lip gloss on her mouth.

"Armor on?" he asked her, and she nodded firmly, gaze very strong as she looked at his face. He sighed and resisted the urge to ruffle her hair as he swung aboard his bike. "Okay. Let's do this. You wanna go home, let me know, okay?" She didn't say anything, but she buried her face between his shoulderblades as they drove, arms clutched around him; he loved it. He went a little slower than he usually did in case she needed more time to get her head on straight. To his frustration, when he felt around the bond she was still just a faraway little lump of badness; her distance felt odd and unnatural. The absence of her normal warmth cozying up to him at the back of his mind was making him want to punch things.

Driving up to the school, Soul wanted to punch things even more. The usual crowds of students were hanging around in the courtyard, gossiping or studying or whatever the hell it was they did that was so important they would bother to arrive early, and they all turned as one. Maka didn't even hesitate, and he gave her a solid nod as their eyes met briefly before she put her little bird shoulders back, her head up and walked up the steps.

Poker. He could make millions with her on the professional poker circuit. Her face was like a porcelain doll's. He snarled everybody out of her way, stalking before her like a guard dog and not minding it one bit, clearing a path that she walked like a damn princess, ignoring all the whispers and stares. She did snap a crying Kim a look of icy scorn so mean and quick that he was surprised an actual laser didn't shoot from her face.

Made sense. Why the hell was Kim crying, anyway? It's not like she'd really known Spirit. She'd taken a few classes under him. It wasn't _her_ father. He looked at Kim, abashed and wet-faced, then at his stone-cold meister, and felt his chest grow heavy with something really awful and strange he couldn't quite place. In their first class, he herded Maka up the stairs with a fingertip on the small of her back, putting her at the back of the classroom so people couldn't stare without craning around, at which point he would promptly murder them. She grumped at him a little, wanting to be in the very front like always. "Too bad," he murmured, scooting past her to slouch down in a seat. "Fuck 'em. I like it better here anyways."

The other Spartoi came in and he was thankful that they seemed to get with the program immediately after just one look at her face. Even Black Star kept his mouth shut for once, only gripping Maka on the shoulder firmly as he went by, though he still threw his oversize booted feet up on the desk like it was a damn barn. Tsubaki looked like she was practically bursting at the seams to mother over Maka, but she didn't, though her lips kept twitching with worry.

Maka just sat there, sipping idly on her sweet coffee and keeping her eyes firmly down. Soul hated that. He liked her gaze up, bright, excited on the chalkboard as she geeked out. She did blink when Sid came into the class instead of Stein, their usual teacher. He saw her set her shoulders again, firm her lips; armor back up and ready for battle.

The zombie looked up at the classroom and heaved a sigh. He didn't have to tell them to quiet down. The entire chattering mass went still the moment he walked in. "Stein won't be in today," he started awkwardly, obviously a bit thrown when he finally noticed Maka. It was beyond weird seeing a dead man shift uncomfortably at the thought of talking about death. Soul felt their link again, checking, double checking, hovering over her like Tsubaki wished she could, though he didn't actually move a muscle- finally Maka pinched his thigh and he stopped with a grunt. "I'm sure you all know why. Yesterday the DWMA lost one of the finest Death Scythes I've ever had the honor to fight with. Spirit Albarn passed away last evening from natural causes. We will let you all know any future arrangements, and anyone who wishes to go home today can." He kept going, saying something or other, but Maka was gone. Her eyes were focused on the steam still swirling up from her cup, mouth pressed perfectly flat and hands folded delicately in her lap. Soul frowned. Seeing his athletic meister so still was disturbing. He almost went to poke her or otherwise aggravate her into life, quite happy to take a hit if it would get rid of the broken doll act, but then he noticed the quiver in her gloved hands and desisted. Sid finally shut up about whatever he had been saying and everyone trailed out slowly. Soul glared at them all righteously, showing a sharp tooth whenever someone looked like they might come over to talk to Maka. _Stupid bastards. Of course every single of of 'em is going home. Anything for a free day, but his own damn daughter is here. _

He couldn't help it; he grabbed her hand, and she let him. The heavy feeling in his chest came back. Finally all the students were gone, though Black Star had to literally pull Tsubaki away. She waved her hands, mouthing, "Call me! Call me!" at him before she disappeared out the door behind a morose Patty and Liz. Sid pointed a blueish finger up at them.

"Lord Death would like to talk to you, Maka, whenever you feel ready," he rumbled. "I'm- I'm very, very sorry, Maka. I'm going to miss your dad." He turned away quickly and left, dreadlocks swinging.

"Well, that was a waste of getting up early," Soul mused quietly into the empty air. Maka gripped his hand harder, still quivering.

"Take me home, Soul."

It was desperate and soft and sounded more like an animal in a trap than a person's voice. He hustled her down the stairs, down the hallway, out the main doors and down the steps to motorcycle freedom as fast as he could, desperate to do something. She kept her face calm until they walked in the door of their apartment and then she cracked, smashing her backpack into the wall with a keening wail and throwing her hands up. He grabbed her, cradled her face, cupped her elbows, touched her anywhere and everywhere, frantic to help her, feeling like he was losing his mind by proxy as her presence in his head came absolutely undone, a discordant mess of sour notes.

"Shit, shit, shit," she chanted in between rough sobs, shocking him to his core; he gaped at her with an open mouth, almost missing the other words that tumbled out of her helplessly. "Soul, I don't know what to do, my mama won't answer the phone and Blair's gone off somewhere and I have to pay for the ambulance, and I don't even know what he wanted but I have to call the funeral home to make an appointment, and that's gonna cost money too, and there's so much stuff to do! I don't know how to do this!" She moaned it, hands scrabbling at his jacket, and he felt like he was holding a grenade.

"Uh- uh- it's okay, it's okay, I'll help," he babbled, trying to steer her towards the couch, but she didn't move. "Lord Death will pay for anything, don't even worry about that, I promise, and your damn mother will answer her phone at some point, even if I have to track her down myself and nail her hand to it." He said the last a bit grimly. She cried harder and he wavered in awkward horror, not sure if he was allowed to hug her right now or if she would scream at him like she had yesterday. You could never be sure with Maka.

Finally he took a deep breath and picked her up. He braced for impact but nothing happened and he blew out a breath of relief, cradling her as he walked her to her room. He put her down on the bed and though he might cry himself when she curled into a tiny ball. With a sigh, he sat down beside her and tugged her boots off gently, stomach feeling sick. He toed off his own shoes and crawled beside her, carefully staying on top of the covers, but lifting her up and tucking her in firmly under them like a child. She stayed fetal, shivering and hiccuping against him, and he pulled her pigtails free too for good measure.

They stayed there for a long time, she buried under the covers and her own pain and her weapon with his hand gently combing through her loosened hair; it felt like silk, like some kind of expensive fabric, incredibly soft. Running his fingers through it seemed to soothe her; at least she'd stopped crying. He peeked down at her and raised a brow when he saw her wet lashes still against her cheeks. _Passed out, finally, thank Death._

He was wrong, though, as he realized when he idly felt for the bond; she was awake, she was just bone tired after a mostly sleepless night. She must have felt him looking at her because she gave a long sigh, pushing herself back up and scooting to the edge of the bed. He had to hide a wince at her closed-off face, and he already missed the feel of her hair.

He made to get up, but her hand shot out and locked around his wrist. Startled, he tried to peer under her bangs. "I'm gonna take a shower, and then I have to call Lord Death," she said tiredly, still not looking at him. "Will you help me?"

That one surely threw him for a loop. Help her? Help her shower? Well, yeah, he could surely do that, he would downright love to in fact, but was now really the time? It took him a good few seconds of dazed and fevered shock before he realized she meant help her with the call, not her shower. "Yeah, sure, just let me know." She left and he fell back onto the bed, thrashing a little and clutching his head as he drummed his feet. He knew he was throwing a tantrum but he didn't care; his stupid dirty mind was forming pictures of slick pale skin and barely-there bubbles at a completely, horrifyingly inappropriate time and he felt like an asshole.

When she called for Soul, she was fully clothed, but her hair was still drenched and soaking coldly down the back of her T-shirt. He poked his head into the bathroom very slowly, like he was scared of something, and she suppressed a sigh before grabbing his hair and yanking him in. He gave her a hurt look but didn't say anything. She took a deep breath and leaned into the foggy mirror, and he scooted behind her to see better as she wrote '42-42-564' on it, finger wiping away the condensation and leaving silvery trails. She could see disjointed patches of herself in the numbers, rather pathetic looking really, and Soul close behind her, so close she could feel his body heat and see half of a somber scarlet eye. He was looking at her. Why was he looking at her like that, hands hovering around her waist, brows drawn together? She bit her lip, about to say something, but then Lord Death's cartoonish face materialized in the mirror and she used her whole hand to wipe it a bit clearer. They'd learned through trial and error that simply breathing on a glass surface didn't always hold the mist long enough to write out his whole number, hence the after-shower location.

"Hello, there, Maka, Soul," the shinigami said gently, for once sounding human, and oddly very much like Kid. His normal hyper tone usually irritated her, but right now she almost missed it.

"Hello, Lord Death," she said, not even realizing that she'd pasted a polite smile on her face. "Sid said you wanted to talk to me?" Her head was pounding and she shifted her weight a bit, feeling Soul finally settle a warm hand on her upper hip, a neutral zone, so she let it stay.

"I did. How are you doing, Maka?"

"You're the personification of death, I would think you'd know exactly how I'm doing," she snapped dryly. His skeletal mask seemed to wilt a little.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm worried about you."

"Thank you, but I'm doing okay." Soul's hand twitched a little at that, so she nudged it off her with her elbow. In retaliation, he dropped his head onto her shoulder. Death didn't say anything to her lie, thank goodness. He just wobbled around a little, black cloak looking spikier than ever.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Maka?" She hesitated a little, then shook her head. Soul positively dug his chin into her at _that_ lie. It seemed to her like the eye holes on Death's mask got a little bit blacker. "Well, as an employee of the DWMA and a friend, the academy will be paying for any medical bills Spirit might have incurred, of course." How the heck did he do that? It was like he read her mind.

She frowned a little. She didn't need help. All she needed was an after school job, or maybe extra missions. It was _her_ father. She should be the one to take care of him. Anyway, taking handouts rankled. "Uh, sir, you don't have to do that. In fact I'd really rather you didn't."

He bobbed in close to the mirror., mask distorting like a funhouse reflection. "It's happening, Maka dear, so get used to it." They stared at each other for a moment before she grunted, defeated and knowing it. Honestly, she just wanted this to be over, and badly. Her whole soul felt like one big bruise, and she was sure if tried to look at it, it would be shaking like a fawn.

"Do you know what happened? The ambulance, uh, they said they weren't sure." The words left her mouth before she really realized it, and she wished she could snatch them back.

"He had an aneurysm in his brain that burst." The word hit her like a punch to the stomach. It didn't really surprise her that he knew. He usually knew everything. She'd figured maybe a heart attack, but aneurysm made sense; he was young for heart problems, after all.

"Oh," she breathed.

"I'm going to miss your father very much." The mask tilted, regarding her, and she hoped he couldn't see her hands currently white knuckled on the edge of the sink. "He was a good man in many ways, and he loved you more than anything in the world. He was proud of you, and he talked about you constantly." She gripped the sink harder, clenching her jaw and refusing to tremble. "If you ever want any, I believe Stein has some pictures of him when he was younger."

"I don't _want_ pictures of him," she blurted, her chest tight. "I just want things to go back to normal, please. Can I just keep going to school and missions? Please?" She heard the begging, shrill tone of her voice and it made her cringe, but she couldn't seem to help it. Death simply nodded, flashing her his trademark peace sign, seemingly out of reflex.

"I'm going to leave that up to you, Maka, use your best judgement. There's no need to come out until you're ready! I'll let you go now, but remember, anything you need you just let me know!" He winked, somehow managing to make the gesture sad, and dissolved away, leaving only Soul's reddish gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

She stared back at him for a moment before forcing herself to let go of the sink, grabbing her toothbrush. "Thank you for being there," she told him quietly before sticking it in her mouth and scrubbing. He leaned his forehead against the back of her neck and she shivered when his breath ghosted across her damp skin. Why on earth was his hand back on her hip? He just put it there, like he owned her, like he had all the rights in the world to touch her whenever he wanted. It was infuriating. He was infuriating. She growled at him venomously around her mouthful of foam, suddenly so pissed off that she felt like she might combust, and he jerked his head up, stepping away from her when he caught her glare, hands up in surrender.

"Gewiway," she gargled at him. Miraculously, he understood her toothpaste speak and backed out, hands up the whole way like she was pointing a gun at him. She snorted self-righteously as she spat and rinsed, ignoring the stern little voice that asked what the hell she thought she was doing, snapping at him for touching her when not an hour ago he was in her bed petting her.

She padded down the hallway and into the kitchen; she was hungry, and she was both pissed and disturbed at herself for it. How could she be thinking about food when her dad was dead? What kind of awful person had cravings when their parent was lying on a slab somewhere? She made a sandwich and was oddly disappointed in herself to find that it tasted just as good as it usually would.

Soul came into the kitchen and leaned his hip on the table, gnawing on a nail and staring at her as she ate. It took a moment, but she broke finally. "Yes?"

"Tsubaki texted me. So did Liz and Patty and Kid. They all want to talk to you but they don't wanna bug you."

"Screw them. I don't wanna talk." The crude language rolled off her tongue smoothly, if not at all familiarly, and Soul's eyebrows shot up into his hair. She thought maybe she liked it, liked the shock value and the strangeness of it, though she wasn't sure why, beyond the fact that it let off a little steam. It curled her toes a little, guilt mixed with something else. Black Star would absolutely die of glee if he ever heard her cuss.

"Kid's mom is dead. I'm pretty sure Patty and Liz's is too, and who knows about their dad. Black Star's parents are both dead too. Don't you think it might help to talk to them?"

Maka raised her brows right back at him, taking her plate to the sink for a rinse. "Help what? I'm fine, Soul. I'll be fine. People survive worse than this all the time, so will I." Looking at the coffeepot clock, she was surprised to find it was only two in the afternoon.

Behind her, Soul made an unintelligible noise. "People survive bad things by leaning on others, Maka. It doesn't mean you're weak, it means you're cool enough to have people who care about you." It was his special voice, the one he used when they were talking about things like his scar, his music or his family, when he was sharing pieces of himself. She was surprised to realize she hadn't ever really shared much with him, but bit by bit over the years he'd bared all kinds of sore spots to her. What had she told him? He knew her dad was a history of straying to other women, and that her mom had been out of the picture for years, but she'd only told him the barest bones of her story. It made her feel even worse, and when she turned around and saw the warmth and worry on his face, it sure didn't help.

"Yeah," she said noncommittally.

"I tried your mom again, too. No answer but I left another message. That okay?" It appeared he was going to let her off the hook for the moment, having dispensed his Yoda-like wisdom of the day, she thought sourly.

"Yeah. I'll get a postcard in a few months, probably. Rest in peace, ex-husband and noted manwhore. Having a great time in Mexico! Ex oh, ex oh." Soul made a face at her. She didn't care. She was angry. She smacked a hand to her head as something suddenly hit her.

"Oh, no, there's all kinds of people I need to call, can I take your cycle again?" He coughed. "Fine. Will you take me to his house? I need to get his phone book. I have to call his friends and stuff."

"Won't they learn from the obituary? Or from Lord Death, or something?"

"Oh! I have to write an obituary. How do you do that? Do you just send it to the paper?" She was falling into nerd-mode, making mental lists, as if this were an assignment that she had to complete step by step.

"Uhh..." Her weapon was clearly out of his element. "I don't know, I guess so. The funeral home people can probably tell you. They called while you in the shower, they have your dad, I forgot to tell you, wanted to make an appointment. I told them you'd call them back." She was already trotting to her cell phone and he trailed behind her.

She scrolled through a rather long list of missed calls, most of them her friends, breath catching as she saw Spirit's number come up in the call log; yesterday, seven twenty nine in the evening, Blair had called her from her dad's house in a panic. She swallowed, feeling her heart begin to thud painfully. Was this a panic attack? An adrenaline rush, the pulse and harsh breath of running, while sitting still? No. She ignored her traitor heart. Maka Albarn did not give into anything as pathetic as a panic attack.

There it was. She hit redial and sat down on the couch, trying to ignore Soul looming behind her like a gargoyle or something. A polished woman's voice came on the line. "Hello, Phillips Funeral Home. Can I help you?" The name sounded familiar. She was pretty sure they were the only funeral home in Death City; that must be why the hospital had taken him there after the autopsy she'd signed a consent form for at his house, standing over his sheet-covered body... she bit her lip, stopping that train of thought. Weren't they supposed to ask her, or something? Soul seemed to sense her confusion and leaned over her shoulder.

"Kid texted me. He said his dad took care of all the hospital stuff this morning," he mouthed. He must have caught her question somehow, sometimes stray things would slip through their bond like that. At least, that was her theory. She never caught anything that concrete and specific from him, but it was eerie how often he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She swallowed again. "Yes, uh, I missed your call earlier. I'm Maka Albarn. Uh, you have my father. Spirit Albarn."

"One moment, please." Shuffling papers in her ear. "Yes, we received his body this morning, along with the hospital's paperwork. I'm very sorry for your loss."

It took her a moment to respond. "Thank you."

"Whenever you feel able in the next few days, we need to set a meeting to discuss Spirit's arrangements."

"Arrangements?" She felt stupid, like she had cement in her skull.

"For his remains," the voice clarified.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, anytime after four works for me, whatever day you have open." She refused to skip any more classes, even if the rest of the school thought it was okay.

"We can fit you in tomorrow at four thirty." Maka agreed and hung up, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to blink them away but her lips were shaking and her throat was tight; it was a lost cause, so she gave up and headed to her room to pull on jeans and a hoodie, letting her face wrinkle up as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She had to call all her father's friends and tell them. He may have been a shameless Casanova, but he was a well-liked man, and she knew he still hung out with many of his old classmates. He'd actually drug her into a bar with them all one time, introducing her and beaming with pride, babbling about how great a technician she was with stars in his eyes. She cringed at the memory and felt her heart give a wrench.

When she climbed up behind Soul on his motorcycle she mouthed in his ear, "Go fast, please?" and he did, streaking through the streets in a way that was highly illegal and cathartic for her in a strange way. She closed her eyes, the animalistic rumble of the engine shaking her, and felt him bubble up with joy at the edges of her mind.

Coming to a stop in Spirit's drive killed that, though. He went back to worry and concern, so she pulled back a little, walling herself up as they entered. It felt no different, smelled no different, and she had the weird feeling her dad would come bounding energetically around a corner like he usually did, animated and excited to have his precious Maka in his house. She grabbed his phonebook and his phone and sat down at the kitchen table. For a moment, after dialing the first number, she started at the phone; she would have to somehow cancel all his bills, his credit cards, insurance...

Then one of his friends answered and she forced herself to focus. Working her way through his phonebook didn't take as long as she'd expected, and a few people already knew somehow, but it never got any less strange having to say, "He passed away yesterday. Yes. An aneuysm." One person, who apparently had babysat her rather frequently in her infant years, tried to tell her that it was a good thing he'd died quickly, and she nearly crushed the phone in rage.

The whole time Soul just slouched in a chair across from her, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket and occasionally trying to prod at her brain, ignoring her death glares each time. She felt nothing but compassion and worry from him, but somehow he didn't seem to understand that _nice_ wasn't what she wanted right now. Nice would make her collapse in tears again, and she'd had enough of that for a lifetime. She wanted to feel his blade slamming into the flesh of a monster a thousand times more than she wanted to feel him carrying her to her room like a baby again. It was strange he wasn't picking up on that, because in general he had a good idea of what she wanted. That quick read he had on her, while an annoyance in daily life, was part of why they made such a deadly team.

Soul was actually watching her when she wasn't looking, sneaking peeks at her face when she was flipping through Spirit's phonebook or dialing a number. He'd perfected the art of watching her unnoticed, since it tended to irritate her if she caught him staring. She had the doll mask on again, even though no one but him was around, and he was surprised to find that it hurt a little. She'd shut him out of her head too, paring their bond down to a bare whisper, and he missed it.

He frowned as a thread of something managed to reach him; it felt bloody and vicious, like she did in the middle of a good fight. Was she thinking about killing things? Now, right as she was talking in her polite little school-girl tones with her face perfectly blank and even?

Yeah, no doubt about it. Actually, it might do her good to get out of the apartment, go on a mission and let loose some stress. His meister wasn't a girl made for sitting, unless there was a book in her hand. She was active, always full of energy, ready to go. Even while wrapped up in a book she would be moving, some part of her; wriggling her toes or twirling a piece of hair. The first time he'd seen her, tiny and pigtailed, staring at him and tapping her fingers as he hit the last note of his composition, he'd thought that she looked like a bird in a cage.

He'd come to know her, though, and she was no frail little canary. She was something with a massive wingspan and deadly talons, some kind of bird of prey, made for dealing death. She and Black Star had that part of themselves in common. It made him feel weak, sometimes. In Maka's skillful hands he was powerful, but in his human form, he wasn't much good in a fight, though he tried.

He realized with a start that she'd been done on the phone for a while, just sitting at the table. "Done?" he asked, and she nodded, biting her lip. He felt his eyes lingering on her neat little white teeth as they nibbled and forced his gaze away. They locked up the house and headed home. He went fast again, though she hadn't asked him this time. He attempted to make her dinner, but she sent him a squinty look and told him that it was her turn and he knew it, so if he knew what was good for him he'd get out of the darn kitchen. How she even managed to remember whose turn it was was beyond him. He gave in and tried to show his appreciation by inhaling a truly massive portion of her enchiladas. God, could the girl cook.

After eating he collapsed on the couch, clicking the tv on, pleasantly full and feeling his sleepless night catching up to him. Maka came and sat on the other end of the couch, wrapping long arms around drawn up legs and staring mindlessly at the flickering screen. He could tell by the minute workings of her brows and lips that she wasn't paying much attention.

"Gettin' late. You're usually in bed by now," he said, half-asking, and she blinked at him.

"I don't think I'd sleep, really." He nodded, squashing down a yawn. If his meister wasn't going to sleep neither would he. He'd stay up and keep an eye on her. She was looking at him oddly, green eyes very large and serious, the same intent way she focused on one of Stein's dissections.

"What?"

She shook her head and he saw her bottom lip start to tremble. Her face was switching madly between china doll and teary catastrophe, back and forth, as she desperately tried to stem the tears. "I was thinking about the mean things I said to him-" she choked out, and he held a finger up firmly.

"Nope. Don't think that way, Maka. You were a good daughter to him."

It was too late, though. He saw her struggle for one last moment before failing. Even Maka's iron willpower couldn't stem tears like these. If the moment hadn't been so serious, if the whole damn world hadn't fallen apart on them, he might have chuckled at her red wrinkled face- she definitely wasn't what you'd call a 'pretty crier'. He held out his arms, shifting sideways a little, and she burrowed into him, clutching his shirt as she drenched it. It felt natural, as touching her always did, even though half the time she'd instantly warn him off with a sharp tongue or literary assault, always on the lookout for some imaginary line he might cross. She liked to come to him, sometimes, but he was rarely allowed to go to her. It pissed him off, but there it was, and all his efforts over the years hadn't changed it. It was part of the dichotomy about her that fascinated him, in the same way a good piece of music held his attention. They were both constantly changing, fluid, and each time you listened you learned something new.

Her bony knees were digging into his spleen or something else that felt important, so he twisted around to sit sideways on the couch, stretching his legs out and maneuvering her onto his lap as she bawled, soft cries like a starving kitten. He put his arms around her, slowly, but she almost seemed to welcome it, pushing into him tighter.

"Shh, it'll be okay. I promise." He whispered it into her ear, feeling awkward as soon as he said it, but he had to say something, didn't he?

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she said wetly, face still pushed against his neck, and he laughed lightly.

"I'm not going anywhere, and you'll be okay someday, so yeah, I think I can keep that one." She snorted a little and then started crying again, so he just held her, yawning again over her head. She was light and warm on him, and the floral scent of whatever shampoo she'd used was still lingering in her hair. Despite her tears this was damn comfortable. He started stroking her hair again, like he had that morning, and felt her slowly settle against his chest, cheek pressed over his scar, though he wouldn't tell her that.

Wrapped up in an episode of _Jackass_, it took him a while to realize she'd fallen asleep, his vague sense of her calm and quiet. He glanced down at the top of her ashy blonde head. Well, if she was asleep, he could do the same. Finally! He realized he was grinning toothily at her hair like a creeper and made himself stop, reaching oh-so-slowly for the remote with the arm that wasn't wrapped around her. Television off, he tucked his chin on top of her head and shut his eyes.

Roughly eight hours later, Maka awoke, coming up from the deep parts of sleep slowly, remnants of some kind of dream fading away in her mind, though she vaguely remembered something to do with a shovel and a candy-cane. Red, and white, like the scruffy mop of hair her face was currently being tickled by...

She froze as she realized where exactly she was; sprawled out atop her snoring, drooling weapon, face pressed against his neck and both his arms wrapped around her, hands warm against her back. It felt stupidly comfortable and her breath caught as little alarm bells started to shriek in her head. This was too much, too close to being more than friends, toeing the line. It was unprofessional. It was undignified. It made her look like an absolute naïve little fool, because she knew that he wouldn't be panicking like this if their positions were reversed! Her pulse started to race as Soul shifted lazily under her, body rolling up against hers, and she refused to believe it was from anything besides embarassment.

She tried to sit up, putting one foot on the floor beside the couch for optimum escape leverage, but his arms weren't moving a damn inch. "Oh no," she half-whispered, half-moaned, feeling distinctly trapped, and wished she could gnaw her limbs off to get away like a fox.

She squirmed harder, finally abandoning all hope of sneaking away, putting her hands to his chest and shoving. His eyes blinked open, confused, and she froze again as vibrant scarlet filled her vision. "Let me _go_, Soul! Weirdo!" she snapped angrily, out of reflex more than anything, and he raised his brows blearily. Oh, his hands were already at his sides. Just when she thought things couldn't get any more horrifying. She scrambled off him, not caring that she nearly kneed him in his junk, and darted to her room, vaulting impressively over the coffee table he'd tripped on that morning with one hand.

Her room! Safety, sweet beautiful solitude. It was like manna in the desert. She threw the door closed and stood for a moment, aware that she was a bit wild-eyed and breathless. That was so far from okay she couldn't put a name to it, and it had been all her fault; she'd thrown herself at him last night like a child, and then actually managed to fall asleep on him?

She sat on her bed, ashamed and embarassed in equal parts, and dreading going back out there. Looking at her alarm clock, she saw with relief that at least she was well ahead of her normal schedule for getting ready for school. The thought darkened her mood even further. Walking those halls yesterday had been a damn gauntlet, a hall of staring eyes and whispers. Thank Death no one had dared to talk to her, because if they had she just knew she would have started to cry, and she refused to sully her reputation like that. Soul had kept everyone back, and-

It stopped Maka in her tracks, her skirt dangling from her fingers. Why had she reacted so violently to waking up by him? Well, on him, to be accurate. Curse her fact-oriented brain... It wasn't as if physical touch was new to them. They touched all the time. He would grab her hand as he transformed in a fight, she held onto him while riding his bike, they treated each other's wounds. For heaven's sake, she'd been inside the darkest depths of his mind, and he'd seen her break down in the Book of Eibon, seen her cry over Chrona and mourn her mother's absence.

Suddenly she felt even more ashamed, but for an entirely different reason, because her fiercely truthful thoughts were whispering to her that the only reason she cared was because she had liked it far, far too much, waking up in his arms, liked the little wriggle he gave under her and the closeness of their bodies. It was also telling her that she'd been rather mean to him when he'd been doing nothing but trying to make her feel better.

She put her head in her hands, feeling her face grow hot. What was wrong with her? He'd never so much as glanced at her with anything more than friendship in his eyes. She growled and firmly put all rogue thoughts in a neat little box, at the very back of her brain, and threw away the key as she pulled on her boots. This would not come between them.

She couldn't lose him too because she couldn't control herself.

Spirit's grinning face flashed into her mind and she felt tears welling up, again. It was like she was a leaky faucet or something. She remembered suddenly- she had to meet with the funeral home today after school.

Would Soul still take her to school? She cringed as she walked to the kitchen to grab an apple, but when Soul looked up from his cereal he just smiled at her.

"Hey," he said, tone calm, and that was it. No mention of her clumsy getaway or anything. She could have passed out from relief at his mercy.

"Hey," she squeaked. She felt her cheeks draw up into the rictus grin she'd been wearing all too often lately. Soul scowled at her thunderously.

"You look like you're planning ways to cook my eyeballs when you make that face, it's creepy as hell," he informed her, so she let it drop, replacing it with a dirty look aimed in his direction. "That's better. Least I'm used to that one," he grumbled. She rolled her eyes at him.

This was better. This was normal, back and forth, the mild verbal sparring that served them for ordinary conversation. She bit into her apple, feeling her insides knot up at the thought of her appointment with the funeral home after school today. Her phone was empty except for a text from Tsubaki when she grabbed it; no returned call from her mother.

Her funk deepened, mixed with a black thread of terror. What if she made the wrong decision? Did he want to be cremated, or buried? She knew both her grandparents on his side were long gone, in a cemetary somewhere back east. Did that mean he would want to be next to them? People in her books did that, sometimes, a family graveyard. Would her mama know? Why hadn't her mama called her? Surely this was important enough to get her attention. Where was Blair? Did she need a lawyer, did he have a will?

Maka didn't even realize she was panting until Soul grabbed her apple-less hand. She twitched, jerking away, but it brought her down from her panic. He eyed her unreadably, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth, dripping milk.

She cleared her thoat, taking a gigantic bite of apple so she wouldn't have to talk. He subsided back into his chair. She forced herself to breathe again.

"Wanna pick up a mission from the board this weekend?" he said suddenly. "We can go kill stuff. Get another soul."

Maka didn't have to think twice. "Yeah! Yeah, let's do it." He nodded and stumbled away to his room with a yawn to get dressed. She sat there, eating her apple slowly, craving caffeine and periodically crying a few tears.

School was a whole new level of hell, though she managed to contain her tears. She kept her head down, eyes on her notes, and Soul warded off everyone, even the teachers; she barely had to speak two words all day. Marie was a hard one, rushing up in a braless whirlwind of tears and drama, but he stood in front of Maka and sent Marie the most vicious expression his meister could ever recall him making; the teacher stopped in her tracks, then backed away, slowly, mouth open. His Halloween grin had a good use, for once. At lunch she sat by Tsubaki and the rest of the gang, and the awkward silence made her cringe. It got worse when Liz actually tried to pat her on the back, saying something sympathetic, until her weapon started loudly talking about the weather, of all things. It took a moment, but they got it and backed off.

Then it was over, finally, an eternity, and she was walking in the door of the funeral home. It was incredibly off-putting, to say the least. Beige tones, rich wooden furniture and floral couches; each and every table was equipped with a tissue box. She rather liked the man she spoke to, though. He didn't fuss. He took his cues from her, and was businesslike and abrupt, with only a token offer of sympathy. Apparently it didn't matter that she was only seventeen. Since Spirit was single, with no surviving parents, she was next of kin and had the right to make all the decisions. She decided to have him cremated. It seemed appropriate, not to mention much cheaper than a coffin and graveyard plot, though the prices of both were astonishing to her. Who knew it cost so much to die?

Papers were signed, she took his card and said she'd wait for his call, referred him to Lord Death for the payments, though it still bothered her. He handed her a bag of the things her father had had on him when he died. She took it numbly and stuffed it deep into her closet when she got home. Then she went to bed and didn't sleep.

* * *

** Author says:** Been working on this for a while. My own dad died last November, unexpectedly, and for some reason this story just kind of happened, even though he and I had an incredible relationship, much different than that of Maka and Spirit. So this is for my father, I guess, and a lot of the things Maka deals with are things I did too, though of course she handles them a little differently; she's not me. This will probably have a happy ending, because I like happy, though I'm not entirely sure where this will go, since I'm not there myself. Let me know your opinions- I _love_ reviews, good or bad, they inspire me and help me to write better and faster. :)

Expect an update in probably 2 weeks, roughly. And don't worry, I haven't forgotten my Inuyasha fic, Beyond!


	2. Chapter 2

"Soul!" Maka spat, not quite yelling it, but not bothering to hide the rage in her voice as she held out her hand for his. In a split second, he was in scythe form, a whiff of ozone filling the air around them as she spread her legs a little, bouncing on her booted toes. The thing in front of them had begun life as a human man, but now it was straight out of a nightmare, flesh dripping like candle wax off spidery limbs. He was so warped and twisted from devouring innocent souls that he couldn't even speak anymore. He just gibbered at them shrilly, tongue lashing out as spittle flew. From inside his weapon form, Soul watched the tiniest curve touch his meister's lips; it looked innocent, delicate, but a split second later she was charging at the monster with a harpy shriek and he knew he was right, that she was smiling at the thought of wiping that abomination off the face of the earth. He realized he was grinning too. The black blood cackled in him, though he pushed it away, Maka's wavelength cooling it down.

Being in the middle of a fight as a weapon was always a strange experience, dual senses battling for his attention. He found himself inside his scythe physically encouraging her, imitating kicks and punches, gasping at a near-escape, wincing in not-quite-sympathetic horror as she sheared a limb off the thing. He'd long ago gotten used to the gory squelch of cutting things open, a sensation half-felt but nonetheless vivid. It was distracting and eerie, like phantom tingles from an amputated limb. He felt her wavelength open to him suddenly, a quick rush of presence and power, and he immediately responded, wrapping it up in himself, multiplying it and sending it back to her. In the back of his mind he heard the crash of fingers on a piano as Witch Hunter roared to life, making him pant, his weapon form vibrating in Maka's competent hands.

"Get it," he hissed and she did, kicking away a reaching claw with grace that made his breath catch and slamming him into corrupt flesh. The thing gave an unholy screech and died, leaving behind a sudden silence that was almost shocking, and a gently floating soul.

He was back in human form and grabbing it almost before he knew it, relishing the texture as it slid down his throat; ambrosia, the most divine sensation. "Nice. Damn, we're the best," he said with a satisfied burp, turning back to Maka, who was fiddling with the buckle on one boot, anger on her face. "What?"

"This stupid thing broke, my shoe almost came off! Didn't you feel me slip?" she exclaimed in irritation. He frowned. No, he hadn't, he'd been busy rolling around in the music thrumming through him, confident that Maka could handle such a low-level opponent without his full attention. Crap. That was the kind of carelessness that got people killed. Maka was looking at him strangely and he realized he must be flushing.

"Sorry." It was inadequate, but she knew from their bond that he felt like shit.

"S'okay." She stood up and made a face, squinching up her eyes.

"What?" He was at her side in an instant, the good feeling in his stomach from the soul dissipating as he saw her wince, trying to put weight on her ankle. "Aw, shit, you hurt it?"

She rolled it a few times, squinting at it analytically. "Just a little sprain. I'll be fine in a couple days." He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Thank Death she'd at least learned to admit when she was hurt; she knew now, as a veteran of countless battles, that if you pretended you were running at a hundred percent when you really weren't, just to be prideful, you could die. She started hopping away towards their rented motorcycle, avoiding the upturned cobblestones Witch Hunter had tossed about, and he chuckled despite his worry. She looked like a drunk chicken, elbows flapping as she wobbled.

It took a while to get back to the motorcyle; they'd chased that thing further than he realized down the twisted alleyways. She waved off his offer to carry her, disappointingly, thought she did sling an arm around his neck for extra support. "We're gonna have to buy you new boots," he murmured absently into her ear, not realizing the bond was still wide open until a rush of low notes undulated into his head. He thought he did well hiding his jump, but Maka pulled her arm away, shutting the link back down with an angry rush that almost gave him a headache. What the hell was that? He looked at her narrowly, but she just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are we gonna go?"

"Huh?" He gaped at her, heart still thumping from the sheer heat of those sounds, until she tapped the motorcycle. "Oh. Yeah, uh, yeah." Cool guys didn't get this shook up, did they? He grimaced. They took off towards their hotel in the dim evening, streetlights flashing by as they roared through the nearly deserted Parisian streets. This city was like an ancient animal, still vital in its age, tiny streets snaking about every inch of it like veins. He snuck a look over his shoulder, but couldn't see the Eiffel tower; they were too far away, on the very edge of the city.

He could see the tip of it from their hotel balcony, though, and it made his breath catch. He openly admitted a fetish for unusual architecture, and the tower couldn't be called anything but classic, really, but it still stunned him. Wes would have loved to see this; somehow, in all their vacations as children, they'd never made it to Paris. He figured his dad was probably afraid Mom would empty the bank accounts on clothes if she got within fifty miles of the place.

Maka came softly out of the bathroom, hair soaking wet, as usual. Was it a girl thing to never totally dry it after a shower? Or was it just that they had more hair? She scowled at him, flipped upside down and did some origami with her towel; when she came upright it was turbaned around her head. Magic. He liked those little shorts she was wearing, too. You could never have enough Maka leg. Speaking of legs, she was favoring her sore one too much for his liking.

"Lemme see," he told her, sitting down on the couch and patting the cushion next to him. She flopped down and threw her foot up in his lap.

"I tried to superglue the stupid buckle but it won't stay closed, my boot's just flapping open, it's dead," she said plaintively, putting her head back on the arm of the couch and staring at the ceiling. Her throat was exposed to him, a swanlike column of life, white and fragile looking; he actually leaned towards it for a moment, thoughts hazing. He disciplined that and any other stray thoughts he might have about her soft damp skin before touching her purpling ankle. It was irrational, but the weapon sometimes feared that she might absorb his thoughts through touch, and knock him out cold. Well, maybe that wasn't so irrational, knowing his meister. She had a radar for detecting dirty jokes like no one he'd ever seen; just when he and Black Star were sniggering together, convinced she'd missed their comments, a book would come out of nowhere and wreak havoc.

"That sucks. You've had the things forever, though. Do you even own girl shoes?"

"Those are too girl shoes!" she growled, eyes snapping. He smiled lopsidedly at her.

"I don't know. I bet we could Google 'em and they'd pop up in the menswear category. I'll have to remember to do that when we get home, we should have brought the laptop- ow! Shit!" He rubbed his head, sending her an injured look as she waved her hardcover around, ranting something about gender roles. At least her leg was still on his lap.

"You ought to wrap this, you crazy woman," he told her, putting his hands behind his head with a yawn. She looked adorably stormy, but she lowered the book, thank Death.

"Not like we have anything to wrap it with," she pointed out.

"Bet if we go ask at the front desk they'll have an Ace bandage or something."

"Ah, you speak French now? Astounding," she said dryly. He grunted, rolled his eyes, carefully picked up her leg and settled it on the couch as he stood up, and headed downstairs. It took a lot of miming and some rather ugly sketches to get his point across, but eventually he was back on the elevator, heading up to their room with a little med kit in hand. The elevator music was, as always, irritating, something screechy and outdated, and he leaned his head against the cold metal of the walls with a sigh. This was aurally offensive to him. Why couldn't the world get with the program and stop littering the air with this garbage? If he owned an elevator he'd play some Beethoven's 5th, maybe, add a little drama to those trips up to the fifth floor.

Thinking about music brought him back to earlier, that strange jumble that had leaked through the bond. He thought hard. It had been deep, slow, like a whiskey-throated woman in a backless dress crooning a torch song in a dark bar. It was obviously from Maka, but what had it meant? Never in all their years resonating had he felt something like that, and it was making his knees weak.

He felt for the bond at the thought of it, absently, and immediately froze. She wasn't up there. It wasn't that the bond was just faint, she was _gone._ He couldn't feel a thing where she should be. He smashed the buttons with a roar, watching the numbers above the door go up, far too slowly. After a lifetime he was on their floor and he tore though their door a second later, arm shifting into a blade on instinct. Maka's blindfolded head lolled onto her shoulder, and panic shot through him. The twisted shell of a man next to her craned around in surprise as he slammed into it, up to his shoulder, twisting the blade with wicked satisfaction. It gurgled for a moment, hanging on his blade, blackened nails scrabbling at his shoulder.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing to my meister?" he rumbled, feeling himself baring his teeth like an animal. It didn't manage to say anything before dying. He left its soul hovering as he ran to Maka. The fear in him rose to new heights as he still felt nothing through the bond.

Was she dead?

No. Never. There would be no stars outside were she gone. He undid the blindfold and the ties binding her to the chair, noting with satisfaction the blood on her; it wasn't hers. She'd given that thing a hell of a fight. He poked her, gently, gasping violently as he saw that she was breathing. Why couldn't he feel her? He put his hands on her face, shaking lightly. "Maka. Maka!" She groaned a little, the tiniest sound, but it brought him to his knees.

He pulled her off the chair into his lap on the floor, checking her for injuries. She looked okay. Why wasn't she waking up? He realized with a start that he had no idea how to call an ambulance in France. He was seconds away from standing and rushing downstairs when her eyes blinked open. He thought he might be dying in relief as he stared into them, as she rushed back into his head. "Maka," he breathed. His hands trembled as he held her.

"Oww," she said, putting a hand to the back of her head. She sat up and he parted her damp hair, wincing as he saw the bloody bump on her skull, already swollen. "Soul, I'm sorry, I was basically asleep and that stupid thing just came in off the balcony," she said, blinking dizzily.

He stood up and gave her his hand, pulling her into a tight hug and ignoring her squawks and flails. His pulse still hadn't gone back to normal. "You scared the shit out of me," he admitted, and she managed to worm her hands against his chest and push away a little, frowning at him.

"Huh? Why? I almost got him, if my ankle hadn't been hurt I would have been fine." She motioned towards a pen lying on the floor. It was bloody and bent. Was there anything in the world she couldn't turn into a weapon? "What are you so freaked out about? You were just downstairs, I knew you'd be back."

He let her go, finally, with a shaky breath. She flopped onto the bed, a little dizzy. "I couldn't feel you. Like, at all. Wasn't a thing in my head except me." He sat beside her, eyeing the broken glass door to the balcony with distrust, before snagging the soul and slurping it down.

"How many is that now?" Maka said.

"As if you don't know. And don't change the subject."

She rolled her eyes, pressing gingerly on the back of her head. "Sixty-eight souls. For the second time."

He relented, for the moment. "Yup. Could be a death scythe right now if it weren't for freakin' Blair." She went still for a moment, distant, and he could have kicked himself for mentioning the witch. She hadn't shown up anywhere in the nearly three weeks that had passed since Spirit's death, and he knew Maka was worried, scared she'd never see her friend-slash-big-sister again. He could do without Blair's rapey morning wake-ups, but other than that, he missed her too. They'd gone hunting, up and down alleys, making a visit to her old pumpkin-shaped house, putting up posters, but no one had seen her, cat form or woman.

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "We probably should, umm, tell someone. I hope we don't get kicked out." She waved at the shards covering the carpet from the smashed glass door leading to the balcony.

"Maka." He said it sternly. "Something really weird just happened, and what, you just wanna ignore it? Every other time you've gotten knocked out you've still been there." It irritated him horribly; she wouldn't talk about anything these days except missions, training, or homework. She'd drawn a line in the sand somewhere between them, and it ached from somewhere deep inside.

She stood up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants over her shorts and delicately maneuvering a hoodie over her injured head. "Crud, I'm gonna have to go barefoot, ew. Come on." They headed downstairs, and Soul made a face as the elevator music hit his ears, one hand at the ready to steady her if she wavered. "Are you sure I was gone? Gone, gone?" she asked. What a relief. He hadn't had to guilt her into a meaningful conversation.

"Yep. I thought... it's never been like that before, ever." He realized he was waving his hands around in agitation and immediately stuck them in his pockets, slouching against the wall. A soft ding announced their arrival to the ground floor. She bumped up against him lightly with her arm, reassuringly, looking up at him for a moment with emerald eyes. He tried to squish down the worry inside him; it was obvious she could feel him fretting. Who was her attacker, how did they know where she was, and why were they after her? Was her absence in his mind a new symptom of the black blood? He almost hoped that was it, because the only other options he could think of were that she'd actually been dead for a few minutes, unlikely considering she seemed pretty fine now, or that she'd completely broken it off herself. It could be done. Sometimes weapon-meister pairs left, for whatever reason, to find a new partner or whatnot, and in those cases the tie between souls was undone completely. The thought made him shudder. How had he ever lived without her warmth in his mind? They were melded together now, and any life without the other would be, at best, a cursed half-life, of a broken remnant dragging itself along. He couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it.

The clerk at the front desk recognized him; people usually did. He chose to believe it was because of his dashing good looks and Bond-like charisma, instead of his unusual appearance. The language barrier was too much for a situation like this. They finally had to pull the guy upstairs and show him the broken window, and immediately after their DWMA passports, since the absence of a body threw him into a tirade, probably about property damage. The Shibusen paperwork was recognized world-wide, though, and once he noticed the blood smeared into the carpet he seemed to get the picture.

They had to sit in the lobby and explain what happened to a local police officer who, thank Death, spoke some English. Soul could practically see the gears turning in Maka's head and he would lay money that she'd be in the languages section of the library as soon as they got back. She did most of the talking, while he lay back and stared daggers at the officer, who was young and very suave. Soul considered making an offensive joke, had one right on the tip of his tongue in fact, but then Maka put the tips of her fingers on his arm and he no longer felt the need. Finally, they were transferred to another room, and it was about time, because they were both dragging after such a long day.

"We'll ask Stein about it, I promise," Maka said soothingly when he went off again about the missing bond. "Maybe it's a known side effect during periods of unconsciousness." She sounded like a frickin' doctor, and it pissed him off at the same time it intrigued him, imagining her in one of those little nurse outfits.

"Maybe. Fucking weird, though. Don't do it again."

"Okay." She said it, but she was staring disconsolately at her broken boot across the new room, and he sent her a black look.

"Promise!"

She twitched a little, startled by his rough tone. "Okay, Soul, I promise. I didn't exactly do it on purpose." He glowered at her some more, unappeased.

"I didn't _like_ it."

"I'm sorry!" There was a short silence. She gave in, finally, feeling his stress crawling up her spine. She opened up the resonance a little, too, so he could feel her apology for truth. "Wanna help me buy boots tomorrow before we catch our flight? I'll buy you breakfast, too."

He made a noise. She took it as a yes and smiled at him. He basked in it for a few moments before grabbing a pillow and blanket and retreating to the couch, trying to ignore the chill as his feet hung off it. It meant he'd finally grown, right? Even though Kid was still taller. Stupid lanky shinigami bastard.

"Did he say anything?" he asked into the darkness of the room. He wished there wasn't so much traffic outside. He wanted to hear her breathe. Was that creepy? Yeah, but too bad. It was a good thing she couldn't actually read his thoughts word for word, he wouldn't have lasted a week with her.

"Nope," she said sleepily. Covers rustled. "I figured he was working with the one we killed earlier, maybe. They were both eating human souls. I could tell. Their souls were all twisted up when I looked at them. He must have just followed us."

"Mm." He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, before standing back up. It took some huffing and puffing but he managed to push the room's desk over in front of the glass door. He went to the other door, the one to the main hotel hallway, and double-checked the locks. Turning back to his couch, he saw the dim silhouette of Maka sitting up in the bed.

"Sorry. I guess I'm getting paranoid in my old age," he joked, pointing at his white hair. She chuckled softly. That was encouraging. Generally since her dad died she couldn't force a laugh at anything, just settling for pretending with that nasty mannequin smile. He despised it. It was a cloud passing over her sun.

"Thank you for killing it," she said into the darkness. He felt a sudden and insane urge to flex.

"Is your head feelin' better?" When had he wandered over to stand beside the bed? Maka the magnet. He shifted his weight a little. It felt strange talking to her in the blackness, like a confession at a church.

"Ish."

"That ain't a word." He heard a growl tossed in his general direction.

"It's a word if I say it is!"

"Yes, my meister," he said, laughing at her stubbornness, exaggerating his servile tone to the point of ridiculousness. He stopped laughing when she scooted over in the bed, turning back the covers.

"Get in."

Maybe _he'd_ been the one smashed on the skull. He felt dizzy. "Eh?"

"That couch is tiny. You look stupid on it. The bed's plenty big. Get in before I change my mind." He cursed his traitor feet for their moment of hesitation. Odds were this was a trap. Should he put all the books out of her reach first? Maybe. Probably. A life without danger was no fun at all, though. He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed.

Nothing happened. He blew out a breath of relief and slid under the blankets. It was still warm from her body, gorgeously warm compared to the chill room. He put his back to her, figuring that was the safest course of action, feeling lucky he'd been wearing sweats and a t-shirt instead of just boxers. For a mediocre hotel, this bed was pretty damn comfortable.

Next to him, Maka shifted a few more times, then was still. He listened greedily as her breathing grew shallow and slow, slipping into sleep, sounding like a lullaby to him, or a maybe a siren song. He wanted to turn over and put his arms around her, let her curl up into him like she had the morning after Spirit's death, but reluctantly decided after no little agonizing that he was too young to die.

Didn't mean he couldn't imagine it, though. He managed to pass the time until he fell asleep quite happily, if he did say so himself.

* * *

By the time Maka woke up the next morning, Soul was already out of bed, prowling around and checking the locks, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. Judging by his messy hair and drooping eyes, he'd just gotten up. He glanced at her with a faint smile before disappearing into the bathroom, finally satisfied there were no monsters hiding in the closet. She snorted at the thought, trying to ignore the sharp aches in her head and ankle. She hurt, but when she stretched she was surprised at just how well-rested she felt. It was the best sleep she'd had in a while. The sight of her forlorn boot brought her down; poor thing. She was really attached to those boots. They'd lasted since she joined the Academy, and she might not believe in ghosts or four leaf clovers but she kind of thought of them as her lucky boots.

"A normal chick would be excited to go shopping for shoes," Soul said, materializing across the room in that unsettling way he had. She curled her lip.

"Whatever." What had she been thinking last night? Weakness, another mistake. At least she hadn't woken up laying all over him like a floozy, like that night on the couch, back at the apartment. He'd just sounded so sad last night, so worried, and she knew it was her fault for not taking out that pathetic little beast herself. Besides, he _was _too tall for the couch. She couldn't have her weapon seizing up from a bad back, she told herself.

She grabbed some clothes and headed for the bathroom to change, frowning when she saw a wet spot on Soul's t-shit. "Eww, did you drool on yourself?"

He looked like a deer in the headlights for some reason. "Yes. Yes I did." Pause. "I'm disgusting," he added after a moment. She shook her head at him; such a weirdo. She felt a little weird too, though, wearing only knee-high socks into the little shoe store they finally found later, after some aimless driving. At least this part of Paris was sort of clean. Predictably, the girl working the register didn't speak a lick of English, but Maka waved her off with a smile and went wandering down the aisles. Heels, ballet flats, sneakers, rinse and repeat. She wanted to tear her hair out, but her scalp still hurt too much. Finally she gave up and bought a pair of black running shoes. Maybe they looked stupid with her skirt but they were functional. She'd just have to buy some boots when they got home, where she actually knew the good stores. Nothing broke a jaw quite like a solid kick from a good boot.

Surprisingly, Soul didn't mock her as they packed, dropped off the rental bike, and taxied to the airport, though he did sneak away and buy her a cup of coffee when he noticed her sniffing the air like a dog as they passed a café. She took it, she even said thank you, since all her efforts at viciousness in the past weeks hadn't stopped him from being extra attentive. She didn't cry anymore. She had successfully handled everything. They'd been going on missions every chance they got, hitting both Florida and Haiti last week alone, and she felt almost offended that even after all her grown-up coping, he still felt the need to watch over her. He'd been bad enough before her dad died, now he was practically her second shadow. There were enough shades in her life, she didn't need anymore haunting her.

She protested, she was nervous at this new territory, but usually she couldn't bring herself to mind it all that much. She chugged the sweet coffee with glee as the plane lifted off, wishing idly she had a window seat. Yesterday had been confusing, Everything had gone well at first. She'd sliced through that melted monstrosity like butter, her weapon got another soul, until her lucky boot broke and everything went to hell. She shivered, remembering his head bowed down as he helped her towards the motorcycle, lips featherlight against her ear, telling her they'd have to buy new boots in a voice so sinful it should probably be illegal, breathing against her neck as he laughed into her hair. He'd jumped, then, and she'd realized with dread that their resonance was still running strong. What had he felt from her? She crossed her fingers and squinched her eyes up, wishing fervently for the answer to be 'nothing'. The thought of losing him to another meister was worse than any battle wound she'd ever taken.

Then all that strangeness in the hotel. She might have played it off as nothing to Soul last night, but it had bothered her. It wasn't unheard of for the DWMA's intelligence to be a little off, but the fact that the surprise second creature had found her so easily, followed them so successfully, bothered her more than the fact that there had been two instead of one. She felt like there was a target on her back, and it made her bristle.

She remembered Soul crashing into the room like an avenging archangel, eyes aglow, and it made her smile, just a little. Stupid beast had it coming, sneaking up on her like that. Poor Soul, he'd been so upset. She understood though. When he'd lost consciousness after taking Ragnarok straight to the chest, he'd been so faint through their resonance that she'd feared the worst. It was understandable that he got freaked out.

She put her head on her hand, propping her elbow on the armrest between her and Soul. He glanced at her, pulling one headphone out of his ear. "S'amatter?"

"I feel stupid in these dumb shoes. I want my boots," she grumped.

"You have an obsession. I think it's becoming a problem."

"Do not. They're practical, is all, and now I have to break in a new pair." She didn't say it, but she really missed her old ones; it had practically broken her heart when she'd thrown them out at the hotel. Sould gave her kind of an odd smirk, one tooth glinting sharply, before putting his earbud back in with a shrug that said, clearly, too bad so sad for you. She tweaked his ear harshly, annoyed at his lack of empathy.

He yanked a pigtail in return, shooting her a pissed off look, tit for tat. She made a ridiculous angry face, but stopped, diving into her book instead. He shut his eyes, Joe Walsh's smooth voice in his ears. Hotel California, he could go there for a while. No monsters in a song. He touched his chest, where Maka had drooled on him as she slept that morning, leaving the wet spot he'd taken credit for, and damn if he wasn't smiling like an idiot. He'd managed to slither out from under her without waking her up, not really wanting to deal with a freak-out like the couch incident. Also not wanting her to see his morning wood and send him to the deepest pits of hell, but that was a whole different ballgame. That wouldn't have just been a freak out, it would have been the damn apocalypse. He'd covered her noticing the drool like a pro though.

He opened one eye, a few hours and one really awesome nap later, and she was still reading. "Hi, my name is Maka, and I'm a bookaholic," he muttered at her disdainfully, yawning. She pinched him in the tender spot just above the kneecap without even having to look and he cursed, albeit quietly.

When they finally got home, both of them shuffling like neanderthals from a combination of injuries and jet lag, they almost didn't notice the note stuck to their door. Maka pulled it off, then went utterly still, eyes dilating.

"Oh no. Oh Death. Oh no!" She fumbled the key into the lock desperately, the note fluttering to the floor.

"What? What's wrong?" He put his arm into scythe form and his back to the wall next to her, looking up and down the hallway for intruders.

"Kid! Kid, he came over and cleaned-" She finally got the door unlocked and kicked it open, standing shellshocked in the doorway as her eyes took in the ruins of their formerly comfy apartment. Soul, peering over her shoulder, could only suvery the changes in horror. Kid had left his mark, all right. Their coffee table had been sawn in half, each piece placed on either side of their couch, which looked like it had been... bleached, possibly? The bookshelf had been completely emptied and filled with unlit candles. Apparently Kid hadn't been able to organize all Maka's disparate novels into any kind of symmetry. Soul growled as he noticed one of his favorite band posters folded into the shape of a figure eight. Where in the hell was the tv? He looked to his right and froze in shock. The small dividing wall between the kitchen and living room had been completely ripped out, and Soul's jaw dropped open even wider as he counted eight coffeepots lined up beautifully on the counter. Kid had apparently plastered over the single kitchen window as well, and the dish towels hanging off the oven were folded into perfect points. He squinted; had they been _sewn_ like that? Why had Kid painted all the walls black? It felt like a bad haunted house in here, cold and creepy, and he didn't see half their stuff.

"I'm gonna kill that yellow-eyed bastard!" he said, more in disbelief than anything else. They'd only been gone three days! How had Kid even gotten in here?

Maka took one shaky step into the room, squeaking as she caught sight of the disaster. Their living room carpet was gone, replaced by glossy black and white checkerboard tiles. "If he went in my room I'll fold his liver up like a paper crane and throw it out the window," she said wildly.

He blinked at her in utter confusion. Maybe Kid had broken her. "Uh, what now?"

She began inching towards the hall leading to their bedrooms, eyes huge, grinding her teeth. "The _liver_! It's a very sensitive organ in the body! You took anatomy, you know that!"

"You say that to anyone during a fight and I swear to Death I'll curl up and die right there," he told her, following, stepping over the hallway carpet with a grimace. It had perfectly straight vacuum lines in it. The hallway seemed fine, other than the black paint, but when Soul poked his head into his room, he barely recognized it. It was astonishingly neat. He could actually see his floor. At least it hadn't been painted; small mercies. He picked his way in cautiously. His desk was perfectly arranged, with eight identical pens in each of the mason jars he used to store crap in, set symmetrically on either side of it, and a fresh ream of pure white paper between them in the exact center. His schoolbooks were lined up in two stacks beside his desk, and he shuddered; there was a reason he kept his room messy. If he couldn't find his books, he didn't have to do his homework.

Maka gave a despairing cry from her own room and he jumped. Should he go save her? Another screech rang out and he decided discretion was the better part of valour. A few minutes later, she came twitchily through his doorway, face fixed in an expression of pure suffering.

"You look traumatized," he told her, opening his closet. Everything he owned was hanging up and organized by color. "I think Kid did my laundry," he added in disgust, wanting to gag when he saw his boxers folded up neatly. Bros did _not_ touch each other's underwear. He was obviously going to have to have a little talk with Kid after letting Maka knock some sense into him.

Maka gave a whimper, apparently too lost in her shock for words.

"Wanna go kill him?" She nodded at that, perking up a little. He grinned sadistically, rubbing his hands together. Kid had gone too far this time. He had to pay! Luckily, Patti was always ready to hold him down for some punishment, deserved or not.

Maka was turning to go when she suddenly stopped by his desk, looking at the pile of books next to it, arranged from biggest to smallest in rising order. She picked up a magazine from the top between the tips of two fingers, turning to him so slowly and forebodingly that he actually backed away. When he met her crackling gaze, he gulped; he was pretty sure lightning was going to strike him any second.

"M-Maka?" Oh, shit, she was terrifying.

"What. Is. _This_?" she inquired icily, flapping what she held a little. His heart dropped into his stomach as he saw the cover.

"Ah, that's my, um..." he fumbled. This was the most embarassing thing that had ever happened to him in his life. He felt himself turning bright red and began to curse inventively at Kid in his head, though he couldn't seem to get an actual word out. "It's, uh, I mean, you seriously weren't supposed to see that," he finally managed.

Maka eyed the buxom cover model, nostrils flaring. "I'm guessing you read it for the articles, right?" she said sarcastically. He flinched. She sent him another look of withering revulsion and he melted to the floor of his room with a groan as she dropped the porno. "Remind me not to come into your room again. Ever."

He put his hands over his face and nodded slightly, hoping his complexion would eventually return to normal. Beet-red wasn't his style. She stepped out of the room and sucked in air like she'd been holding her breath. "Are we gonna go kill Kid?" she said finally. He nodded again, looking around wildly; no eye contact right now, please Death. Or give him_ actual_ death, either would slunk out of the apartment behind her, his face still on fire. Was there no mercy in the universe? Hopefully she wouldn't tell anyone. Image, gone, just like that. The jokes would never end.

"How bad was your room?" he forced out, finally, unable to even fully enjoy being back on his own motorcycle as they sped to Kid's mansion.

Behind him, she made a noise somewhat between an outraged goose and a pissed-off opera diva. "He folded my underwear," she moaned.

"He folded mine too, that shit's not right," he said fervently.

"Ewwww! Eww," she squealed, beating her fists against his back. "I'm gonna rip him apart! What the hell made him think he could go in and wreck our apartment? If my books aren't somewhere safe he'll never have children!"

Soul blinked at that one as he pulled up to Kid's. He followed Maka meekly, still staring at his feet, as she stomped up to the giant door and began hammering at it, screaming. Normally his dirty magazines lived a life of shadow, hidden in the deepest recesses of his closet beneath a mountain of miscellaneous junk; he'd been confident they were safe when he stashed them in there. Apparently nothing was ever safe with Kid around, though.

The interfering bastard in question opened the door, finally, elegantly dressed and perfectly groomed as always. "Hello, Maka, Soul," he said placidly. "What a suprise! I didn't think I'd see you until classes tomorrow." Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as Maka lanched herself at him with a howl.

The flexbile shinigami managed to worm away after taking a few solid right hooks to the gut and took off, not daring to look behind him as Maka and Soul gave chase. "Liz! Patti! Help!" he yelled desperately. He skidded around a corner, just out of reach of Maka's swipe, and dove behind a startled Liz. "She's gone stark raving mad!"

"What the heck are you talking about?" Liz said in confusion. Maka stared at Kid, an evil grin lighting up her face as she pulled one pigtail loose, just one. He gasped. She rolled one sock down. Kid fell to his knees, hands trembling, one eyelid twitching. She rolled up one sleeve and he convulsed, beginning to hyperventilate.

"He snuck into our apartment and took it upon himself to redecorate," she told Liz menacingly. The tall girl groaned.

"Oh no, you're kidding, right?" Nope. Soul and Maka both shook their heads, neither looking away from the spastically flailing god, his golden eyes darting around Maka's asymmetrical attire frantically.

"Soul, look, he's about to foam at the mouth," she said with vicious satisfaction, pulling her tie askew and reaching out, setting a picture on the wall decidedly crooked.

"Huh, look at that. Nice."

Liz stepped away from Kid, who went entirely prostrate as Maka took one shoe off and popped one side of her collar. "He's gonna be useless for days now, couldn't you have just beaten him up?" she mourned.

Soul snorted. "Dude, our walls are black. You know how hard that's gonna be to paint over?"

"That bad?"

"You have no idea." He glanced at Maka before he could stop himself and their eyes met in a moment of unparalleled awkwardness; he felt his face flame up again. Liz raised a brow.

"Why did he do that?" she wondered. "I noticed he'd been gone, but I mean, I figured he was just landscaping the neighbor's yards or something. He does that." She squatted down beside Kid's catatonic form and began sticking a finger in his ribs. "Kid, come on, you messed up their house. You gotta fix it. What got into you, you were doing so good this week?"

Her meister flopped like a fish. "I was simply trying to do something nice for Maka," he finally croaked out, though his eyes immediately rolled back in his skull after the monumental effort.

Maka glowered at him viciously, fixing her clothes now that he was well and truly down for the count. "I didn't need anything nice done for me! I'm fine!"

Liz looked skeptical at that, giving Kid one last prod before standing up with a yawn. "I'm sorry, guys, I'll make him put everything back," she promised, stretching. Soul realized with a start that it was rather late. "Uh, how are you, Maka?" Liz was older, cruder, far more street-smart, and a bit of a shameless sexpot, but she and Maka actually got along pretty well due to a shared love of practicality and getting stuff done. He could see the worry in her eyes as she looked at his meister, and he appreciated it. Carrying Maka alone was exhausting.

"I keep telling everyone I'm fine! Fine! Fine!" she raved. Liz put her hands up defensively. "If that skunk-haired little jerk doesn't fix my apartment I'll tattoo the number seven all over him! And tell him he better not ever get within twenty feet of my underwear," she threatened, before turning on her heel and stalking off. Soul shrugged at Liz, who looked perturbed at the verbal assault.

"Sorry," he mouthed, glancing down at Kid. Poor guy looked really ill, he was sweating and everything. He'd only been trying to help... Then he remembered Maka's face earlier as she held up his magazine and his eyes narrowed vengefully. "Got a sharpie by chance?" Liz shook her head and he sighed. "Damn. I'll have to get him another time. Night." He followed his meister.

She was huffing and puffing like a lunatic, waving her arms. "I'm so tired of everyone asking me that!" Her voice echoed shrilly from the vaulted darkness of the ceilings, and he thought there were tears sparkling in her eyes, which made him droop. She hadn't cried in a good week, he'd thought maybe she was starting to feel better. Soul tried to feel her wavelength, but it was nothing except fury and a whole lot of genuine pain. She felt broken, like a sinking ship patched up with scotch tape.

"I'm sorry," he finally settled on, not wanting to lecture her for the millionth time about how it wasn't weak to let your friends help you, etcetera, etcetera. Hell, he was pretty sure she'd only been talking to him because she was forced to. She'd barely hung out with Tsubaki at all since Spirit died, and that was her best friend- but Maka just lurked in her room all day and night, if they weren't at school or on a mission. She was turning into a hermit or something, creeping out for food and then scuttling back into her hideaway. He missed the old habits, hanging out in the living room studying or vegging on tv, whatever, the simple times they used to spend together.

He missed her, but he was worried about her, too, and all the worry settled on his shoulders suddenly as they tried to fix the apartment a little, putting the extra appliances in boxes and putting the furniture back where it belonged. He felt old and exhausted to his bones, especially as he thought about the damn second attacker who'd snuck into their room. First her dad died, one of her best friends went missing, her mother had left her to handle every fucking thing all by herself, then monsters started following her, their apartment got thrashed and now she refused to talk about any of it. He let a little of his anger through the link and she turned to him, startled. He was very, very tired and he let that through too.

"Maka, maybe you don't want everyone else all fawning over you but can't you at least talk to me?" he said wearily, not quite knowing where he was going with this, but sick of her shutting everyone out. She'd overdone it with Kid- he'd be curled up in bed for days, popping Xanax like candy, probably driving his therapist to tears. "We're just worried about you. I'm worried about you. I'm really worried." Perhaps she just didn't trust him. The thought was crippling.

Soul couldn't read her eyes, and the bond was humming with about a million different things, an unhappy raucous clamor in his head; he shook it, hard, snowy hair flapping messily. When she got uneven like this the black blood would start to bubble around. He stared back at her, hoping she'd feel how much he meant it, how far beyond terrified he'd been when she'd disappeared from his head, when he'd walked in on her unconscious, dead for all he knew. It felt, suddenly, like green was all he could see, all the shades of a rainforest.

She pinched her trembling lips together, tears coming to her jungle eyes, suddenly, despite her best efforts, and he moved to hug her. She whirled away swiftly and was in her room before he could catch her, with that damn catlike grace, out of his reach in an instant, like always. The black apartment suddenly felt very, very empty, though he thought his heart felt worse.

* * *

Author says: This has gotten a really good response, and I'm so grateful to every single one of you who has taken the time to follow, favorite, or review! It means a lot to me, it really does. Thank you so very much!


	3. Chapter 3

She was looking at him through a fog, a dense damp steam rising from the ground. Where were they? It felt like they were back in Paris. No, it couldn't be, because there was grass beneath her feet, soft and dewy, and barren trees rising high into the sky, burned black. It smelled like a just-sharpened pencil, like cinnamon and lemonade, and she breathed it in deep, wriggling her feet in the grass. Throwing back her head, she saw the fluffy white clouds in a perfect winding spiral. They stood in a bowl, an oasis, high forbidding cliffs stretching past the point of her vision in a circle all around them.

He leaned in suddenly, lips brushing her ear like flaming coals, and she trembled and shook down to her toes. "We'll have to buy you a new father," he whispered, and she wilted into his arms, heat rising into her belly as he stared at her. It was a familiar face; half-lidded scarlet eyes over an amused sideways smile, though for some reason he was wearing a really terrible violet sweater.

Snowflakes fell from the sky, and a thrill of foreboding rushing through her as they landed in his hair, because they weren't snowflakes, they were tiny bits of shredded pages. She flung open the resonance and reached out for him, hard. Suddenly they were in the Black Room, though the little red demon was nowhere to be found. His piano gleamed in the corner like wet ink and he blinked at it confusedly, starting as he noticed her in his arms, looking bleary. "Maka?" He was in his suit now. Good. It suited him, and she giggled for a moment at her own pun.

She shut her eyes tightly, wanting the dead pine trees back, the protection of the mountains. In the distance she thought she heard Blair keening out her cries for Spirit and she shivered again. Why couldn't she speak? Oh. Stein's soul stitches crossed her lips. They didn't hurt at all, surprisingly.

He was looking down at her, saying something in concern, but she was lost in the fog again, and his eyes. She leaned closer and was delighted to find the stitches dissolve. "We have to fight it, we can't give in," she told him.

"What? I don't understand. Why are we here-" he was cut off as she leaned even closer, tilting her head a little, stretching on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. In her heeled shoes, her toes curled in bliss. She ran her hands up his arms to bury them greedily in his hair, tugging at it to loosen the bits of book. There was music all around them, something pitched low and ragged as his mouth moved against hers.

She pulled away finally, frowning as a flock of crows flew overhead, disappearing into the suddenly misty edges of the Room. "Look, birds. It's called a murder. A murder of crows, I mean." Or was it ravens? "Ravens," she added, not wanting him to think she hadn't studied. The piano was playing by itself, she saw, delighted. She pointed, but he ignored it, staring down at her in consternation. Why did he look like that? He was frowning. His lips were moving, but she couldn't understand, though they looked nice doing it. "Murder murder murder," she mumbled.

Then a stab of fear pierced her. His furrowed pale brows brought her to the ground, clutching her head. She'd done what she'd feared, he would leave her, why had she given in to her ugly lust? They were partners, and she'd betrayed that trust by kissing him. She was no better than her papa. "My mama is going to be so ashamed," she cried, rocking herself on the cold floor. She pounded a fist on it, somehow not surprised when one of the pine trees shot up, already dead and black even as it grew. "I didn't mean to, I don't want you to leave me, I shouldn't have kissed you, everyone's gone, I'm so scared, I drive everyone away." Even as she spoke the heavy words they drifted from her mind. This was so difficult. It felt like something was fighting her, like her resonance with Soul was being wrenched away. She fought back, pushing herself out harder, power fizzling like electricity in her hands.

Above her, Soul cried out, hands clutched to his head. The piano music gave an angry irregular crash and stopped. She heard Soul cry and upped the resonance even more, shoving it out of her, staring up at the pine tree full of dark birds. She had to be strong for him, keep him safe from this.

It felt like Soul was screaming. She paused for a moment, looking down from her seat at the top of the pine tree; her sudden change of perspective didn't surprise her. Drops of black liquid were raining from the sky. A crow settled next to her with a flap of wings. "Maka!" it roared, sounding oddly muffled for something so close, like it was underwater. "Maka, stop! Stop! _Stop_!" She realized with terror that it was Soul's voice coming from that gleaming beak, and the panic brought her awake with a cry of her own.

Soul's yells were still easily audible through the wall between them. She reeled as she stumbled into his moonlit room, panting, for once not bothering to knock, feeling the knife edge of hysteria flood her blood. He was on the floor next to his bed, writhing and sweating. She knelt next to him and touched his shoulder.

He slapped her hand away, hard, eyes opening. The moment he saw her clearly he scooted backwards like she wore the bared face of Death himself. Her mouth dropped open.

"Soul, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" His actions didn't make any sense. Nor did the look of absolute betrayal on his face. She rubbed her stinging hand absently, flicking on the lamp next to his bedside table. He was dripping sweat like a plague victim and the knot in her stomach grew.

"What the fuck," he spat, and she flinched as he recoiled even further from her reaching hand.

"It's okay, you just had a bad dream," she soothed, but he cut her off.

"No, you mugged my soul and then tried to fucking- like- take it over," he bellowed, breath hitching in his throat. He put his hands to his ears and shook his head, hard. "You shoved your wavelength into me, I couldn't wake up, it hurt!"

What was he talking about? She'd been asleep, they hadn't gone into the Black Room in weeks; they hadn't fought anything strong enough that they needed to. Obviously whatever he'd dreamed had been scary as hell, but she started to get a little indignant at being woken so abruptly, and a more than a little hurt at the way he was looking at her. She tried to push some calmness towards him over their link, but he scrambled to his feet and positively fled his room at that, putting up a wall so thick she could barely tell he was in her head at all. She rocked back on her heels, one hand over her mouth; he was scared out of his mind.

She followed him, finding him in the kitchen, head hanging over the sink. His hair was dripping wet. Obviously he'd soaked it in an attempt to cool down. "What the heck is going on?" she asked him, crossing her arms. He turned to her with that scared look again, eyes darting around her like he was looking for room to run.

"Are you kidding me?" She shook her head. He was trembling from head to foot. "You just showed up in the Black Room, all of a sudden, you- you freaked out, and then you changed it. There were trees and crows and you kept talking about a murder when you saw them!" He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down hard, bowing his head between his knees, struggling to control his breath.

"A murder?" she frowned, joining him at the table carefully, trying to ignore his slight wince away. His bent face was completely shadowed from her, though his hair gleamed even in the darkness. "You mean like a murder of crows? That's what it's called." She tapped her foot. Was that right? "Maybe it's ravens, actually."

He stood up again convulsively and she jumped. One shaking finger pointed right at her, and she was starting to get a little scared herself. Soul never got like this over a dream, over anything. It was always she who had the nightmares. "That's what you said in the Room!" he shouted, looking wild. "Then you tried to take over my wavelength, you yanked on my fucking _soul_, Maka, you changed the room and no one's supposed to be able to do that but me!"

She laced her fingers together to stop their wavering. "I don't- I don't even remember dreaming just now," she said slowly, talking him down like she would someone on the edge of a rooftop, because he looked just that far beyond okay. "I've never been able to go into the Room without you bringing me along, we have to be resonating at a high frequency, so how could I push my way in there asleep, of all things?" He was white as a ghost as she spoke, cringing back against the refrigerator like a whipped dog. "Soul, are you sure it wasn't just a bad dream? I just- uh, I feel like I'd remember doing something like that. Not that I ever would!"

He didn't say a single word, just kept watching her like a cornered rabbit would watch a wolf, and it broke her heart. He looked like a little child, so she stood up to go give him a pat on the shoulder or something. With a skip and a slide he was around her, snatching his jacket from the coat rack and snagging keys and shoes, forcing them on as he hopped away.

"I gotta go," he told her, swallowing hard, and she didn't know what to do. He dashed out the door in his pajamas, of all things, and it shut behind him with an ominous thunk that made her sit down again.

She just sat there for a long time, shaken, because seeing her generally chill weapon completely out of his mind like that was not enjoyable in the least. Never in a million years would she try to take over his soul, that was something evil, something only a kishin would do, and the memory of his face was like a knife to her heart. With a sigh, she tried to reach out along their bond again, but he still had it locked down tight.

She finally went back to bed, though she couldn't sleep, hushing her breath in hopes of hearing his motorcycle roaring home. It never came, and she had to sit on her hands to keep from gnawing them bloody in worry. He still wasn't home by the time they normally began to prepare for school, so she left early to walk, forcing her steps to quicken, though the heaviness of fear clouding around her tried to slow them. Jet lag wore at her body, and her ankle, though wrapped, twinged uncomfortably, as did the lump on her head. She probably should have delayed enacting vengeance on Kid. That, and an attempt to fix their apartment, had ensured they both had gone to bed far too late last night. Maybe that was why he'd had such a bad dream?

But no, he ran on no sleep all the time. He was the biggest insomniac she'd ever met. Usually he preferred to crash on the couch for a few hours after school, then stay up all night. She longed for coffee as she began the long trek up the steps of the Academy, feeling herself yawn horrendously. With a quick hard inhalation, a full-body preparation, she put ice in her veins as she crested the top step, feeling the eyes all over her, as always, prodding and invasive. Cold, cold. She tried to be winter, tried to send sharp icicles through them all. Maybe it worked, because no one bothered her as she went to her locker.

Her heart shot up and out as she caught sight of Soul's pale mop in the crowds of the hallway. She started to run to him, but he jumped and she felt the wavelength flick. He didn't look as he slipped away, head down and hurrying, and she stopped in her tracks, heart falling heavily back down. Abandonment hit her hard, like a punch to the stomach, and she had to concentrate to be ice again.

"Hey, bookworm," came Black Star's raucous shout, and she jumped as he popped up in front of her, grinning like a madman. Tsubaki waved from beside him, though she looked pained.

"Hey," she returned, still working on the ice. It crept into her voice as she asked, "Have you seen Soul?" She really wanted to ask if he was okay, but that sounded too needy.

The two exchanged looks. "Uh, yeeeah, he was right with us like two seconds ago, you looked right at us," the ninja said. He blinked, then smirked, sticking a hand in the air victoriously. "I know! You didn't even see him because you were distracted by me!" He jeered, pracing around like a deranged pony or something, and she could only wrinkle her brow at his antics.

Tsubaki put her face in her hands, taking Maka by the elbow and pulling her into the ladies' room, which was mercifully empty as everyone started to meander slowly towards first period class. "What happened last night?" she whispered, combing her fingers through the end of her long black ponytail.

Maka wanted to stomp her feet, her feet crammed in those stupid ugly black sneakers. Oh, this was the worst morning she'd had since- well. Since Spirit. She felt the air whoosh out of her as she remembered that she still had to meet Lord Death and plan his services. It had already been way longer than most people let pass, and guilt over her procrastination ate at her. "What do you mean? Are you talking about Soul?" Tsubaki nodded, propping one hip gracefully against the bathroom counter, soft eyes worried. Maka felt even more guilt at that, though she would've thought she was full to the brim with it already. She'd barely talked to her best friend at all in weeks, ignored her texts and calls, unable to force herself to imitate normal when her energy was drained dry by merely doing homework. The motivation simply wasn't there. "I have no idea," she confessed, trying to ignore the nausea creeping into her midsection. "He woke up in the middle of the night, uh-" she couldn't tell anyone he'd been screaming, he'd never forgive her- "Really upset and then he just stormed out."

"That's not what he said," Tsubaki said quietly, looking aside. She was obviously hurt at Maka's lie. More guilt. All her limbs felt heavy. If she was attacked right now, she didn't even know if she could move.

"What did he say to you guys?"

"He didn't say anything bad," Tsubaki hurried to defend. "He said he was having a normal dream, and then you broke in and brought him into the Dark Room by yourself somehow."

"Black Room," Maka corrected automatically. She turned to the mirrors above the sinks, mirrors she'd always loved, round and etched with lovely intertwined souls perched like fairies among a network of vines, and didn't recognize herself. Her face was motionless and frosty, pale, with deep smudges of darkness under her eyes. She didn't even look real, and it shook her. Quickly she looked back to Tsubaki, not wanting to see her face in that beautiful mirror.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Always apologizing. "The Black Room, then. His soul. He said you- ah-" here Tsubaki turned bright red, color pooling in her high cheekbones. Maka pounced.

"I what?" she barked, and her friend jumped.

"Ah, perhaps I shouldn't be telling you this," she fretted, grabbing the end of her hair again, voice dipping like a swallow in flight. Maka didn't move a muscle, and the weapon sighed, gaze full of concern. "He said you kissed him."

Maka felt her own face burning at that. "That's stupid," she pronounced hotly. "If he's having dirty dreams he should keep them to himself! Did I tell you I found a dirty magazine in his room?" She shrieked a little internally at her own hypocrisy, because that was crossing far too big a line, sharing his secrets like that, and she added yet another weight to all the other ones she was carrying. Tsubaki actually stepped backwards at that.

"Oh, no, no you did not," she muttered uncomfortably, obviously having no idea what to say back.

Maka scowled, plunging forwards out of control, even as she knew it was a terrible idea. It felt like someone else running her mouth when she spoke. "Well, I did, he's a slave to his hormones just like every other guy."

Tsubaki considered that, head leaned to one side. "He said you tried to take over his soul." She said it so quietly Maka could barely hear her, looking at her feet, lashes blinking darkly. "I know you wouldn't do that, but maybe you should tell him? He was really shook up, he was concerned for you. He came to our apartment last night." So that's where he'd been. How humiliating. Her hands were quailing in her gloves and she forced them to stop. Everything about her felt weary and torn up, her ankle, her head and her mind. She pictured again his flight away from her in the school hallway and had to steel herself to remain upright as stark fear hit her.

The nasty little voice in the back of her brain started to speak, whispering slyly. _You're no good without him, you've never even tried to learn another weapon, and when he leaves you who will want to partner with you? _Maka the mean, cruel, cold fish meister, who beat her weapon with books and forced him to study and train day and night, who got him hurt for her, Maka whose entire family was kaput and who was all alone in the world, just a little girl, weak. She gasped a little. It felt like she had jumped into a well, but suddenly it had no bottom; she felt out of control.

"I did tell him that. I was asleep!" Tsubaki gave a helpless little shrug, white shoulders rising and falling, and Maka clamped her jaw together so hard she got an instant headache, the bump on her skull protesting angrily. For a moment her head spun. "I don't know, it must have just been a really bad nightmare, he'll be okay. We ran into some weird stuff yesterday..." She touched the back of her head and was about to go into the story, but then she realized the time. "Come on, we're gonna be late." She started out the door back into the hallway, and of course Tsubaki would follow, except she didn't and Maka was halfway down the corridor before she realized it. But then the late bell shrilled angrily and she rocketed towards the classroom, sliding into it just before the sound stopped. Stein's chair squeaked as he turned to her, but he didn't say anything, and it infuriated her to the point of burning. He only let her off the hook for being late because of her dad.

Was everyone going to expect less of her simply because he was dead? The voice went off again. _You want to show everyone that he taught you well, to polish his name, but he didn't teach you much of anything, did he? _A lump rose in her throat, but she slapped her homework in front of him, letting her eyes settle on him, concentrating on the ice. She'd asked for the assignment ahead of time, knowing she'd be in Paris, and she'd made sure to get it done on the plane ride over, though when students went on missions they got a few extra days to turn things in.

She didn't care. No, definitely not. All she had to do was prove everyone wrong for thinking she was so flimsy. She consciously straightened her back and lifted her chin as she walked up the steps, ignoring her wish for her boots and not these _stupid_ sneakers, and freezing out anyone who looked at her, probably laughing at her foolish entrance.

Soul was nowhere to be found, so she sat down beside Liz and Patty, who were both nearly asleep, the younger sister clutching a very ugly stuffed animal. Liz sent her an irritated look. No doubt she'd been up all night trying to put Kid back together. Maka waited for guilt to hit her, braced for it in what felt eerily like a habit, but surprisingly none did, and she felt both relieved and disturbed, though he'd deserved everything she'd given him.

Finally. halfway through Stein's lecture, she caught sight of Soul, slumped behind Kirik across the room in one of Black Star's shirts. The ice she was putting in her eyes went to her heart as she saw him shrink even further under her gaze. He was hiding. Hiding, from her.

All of a sudden, to her dismay, she felt tears hot in her eyes, washing away the ice. She fought it but all she could see was his back to her, walking away, leaving her, and she couldn't breathe. Something was gripping her chest like a vice, and she quaked, gripping the desk so hard she thought her fingers might crack. Liz peered at her, concern in her voice as she whispered, "Maka? You okay? You look kinda sick." She _was_ sick, heartsick. She blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears off her face, frantic, because she absolutely could not do this in class, in front of all these people who called her the prodigy, the one who destroyed the curve, legendary Kami's daughter- not before all the people who looked up to her. That was what she had fought for, and she bit her lip as she felt a tear slip down her cheek despite all her efforts. She dropped her pen as an excuse and dove after it under the desk to wipe the tear away, head whirling.

Was the room spinning? All of a sudden she felt very hot. Liz was gaping down at her and Maka waved a hand at her furiously. She didn't want anyone to notice. But she couldn't stay under here for very long. Oh, Death, what should she do? She felt another tear fall down her cheek, then another, and with each drop her heart thumped more forcefully, so hard that it actually hurt. Was she dying? She couldn't see anything but the spots swimming in her vision, couldn't feel anything but the deep dread, the dread that was nearly all she felt these days. Her own voice echoed in her head: "Papa, get off me, stop hugging me! No, Papa, I don't want to dance with you! Papa, stop it, you're embarrassing me! I don't consider you my father!" and suddenly her breath wasn't merely labored, it was entirely gone and out of her reach. She retched a little, pulling at the air desperately, choking on nothingness, the black spots growing like mold in her sight as she stared at Liz's stylish shoes.

Then Soul was there, hands harsh on her upper arms as he dragged her out from under the desk. She fought him passionately, feeling the eyes on her again like a thousand beestings, the acid whispers pouring into her ears. This couldn't be happening, not to her. Her heart was going even harder, banging maniacally against her chest, surely about to crack her ribs and burst out in a gory spray, and she was numb all over, tingling and perspiring. He was practically dragging her out the door of the classroom, and stone was no harder than his grip. If she was dying she wanted to at least say she was sorry, to make amends, but the bond was still only a thin little thread, and she couldn't speak now because she couldn't even breathe.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, just an instant, and the fear was still there. She moaned, tugging feebly on his hand as she stumbled forward, but he ignored it. Finally she freed herself and fell to her hands and knees, against the blessedly cool hallway floor, cool like the winter she wanted to be. For a moment snowflakes flashed in her eyes, delicate white sugar like bits of shredded paper, and it made her hitching breath worse.

Soul squatted down beside her, though he didn't touch her again. Maka withdrew a little as she heard her own breath, harsh and rapid over the drum in her ears. She felt absolutely soaked, as if she'd stepped out into a swamp in high summer.

He let her lay there for a moment, then pulled her back up, ignoring her strangled cry of protest, and in a few more minutes they were at the nurse's room, Mira Nygus blinking up at them through a mask of bandages.

"She's havin' a panic attack," came Soul's voice, and she flew at him in a sudden volcanic rage, though her suffocated blows fell lightly like the wingbeats of a dying bird. He caught her fists, almost tenderly. Maka Albarn did not give in to silly things like panic attacks! But deep down under the animal fears controlling her body, her logical brain spoke, and it was telling her that yes, this did indeed fit all the symptoms. The absolute degredation of it put her back on the floor, limbs like cooked spaghetti, and she could not even believe it when she found she was still crying.

Nygus came over and competently worked her into a bed, bringing tissues and water, talking and talking. It took a while, but finally, finally Maka's body listened to her brain and she could see straight again, could see clearly without blackness ringing her vision. Her heart was still drumming but less violently. She sobbed and sobbed, a melting iceberg soaking through endless tissues.

When she raised her head at last, Soul was right there, sitting low in a chair across the infirmary with his headband pulled down to his eyebrows. Then she glanced up and her overworked heart gave a stutter as she saw a face at the window of the infirmary door. It was a boy a year or two below her, his name out of her reach right now, and he was staring at her like an animal in a zoo. She sprang for the door, anger and shame coating every nerve in her body, and he whirled and darted away.

An awful stillness fell over the room and she realized she was holding out her hand to Soul, waiting for him to transform, as if she were going to attack that underclassman. He was staring at her hand with the same horror he'd held in his eyes earlier, when he accused her of trying to steal his soul. It felt like her entire world had come crashing down, all her hard work the past few weeks for naught. Everyone knew now what a weakling she was. It would be all over the school by lunchtime. She'd thought she'd known shame when she caught the whispers about her father's newest conquest, about his philandering and the divorce, but that was nothing compared to this.

"Maka, come back here and sit down," said Nygus, not ungently, slipping past her to draw the shutter on the window of the door. Maka ignored her.

"What did you do?" she cried to her weapon, misery ringing in her voice. This was bad, this was beyond bad, but she couldn't _quit_, she was riding an avalanche of self-hatred and it was unstoppable. His mouth worked for a moment. She cut in before he could say anything. "You're crazy! You're so weird! First you freak out on me over some perverted sicko dream and then you drag me away in front of the entire class? I was under the desk for a reason!" By now she was screaming and his eyes were huge, pools of blood, blood she was drawing from him, and she could see her distorted reflection in them as he eyed her. She clenched her fists at her sides as Nygus pulled her away from him. "You're such a freak! How could you do this to me?"

Her words hit him like bullets and she could see it. He stood up and fired right back at her, lips peeling back from his razor teeth, a frightening caricature of the person she knew best in the world. "You're calling _me_ a freak? Our resonance has been going haywire and you won't even fucking admit it because you like to pretend you're goddamn perfect! Not _even_! You're so messed up, you're so totally broken, you know how hard it is to even be around you?" She swayed backwards in stupefaction. They were going too far.

She knew it but her blood was up, her temper was a firestorm, and she moved like a puppet controlled by something beyond herself, an avatar for all the rage and hurt that had been replicating inside her since she stood over her father's body, since she signed the papers to burn him up forever, since she collected his boxed ashes and marveled at how light and small he was, since she cradled him like a baby as he'd once done for her.

It was the most morbid full circle and it drilled a cavern right through her.

"Go away!" she yowled at him as Nygus practically threw her onto the bed, shaking her. "I don't need you! Get out!"

He thundered at her like a beast. "Burn in hell, you uptight bitch! I've been trying to help you, I've been so freakin' worried about you and you tried to fucking eat me and you don't even care!" His fist slammed into the wall as he ran out, and her eyes were fixed on the dent in the plaster as he left. Vague unease hit her beyond the panic, because when exactly had he become a man? She hadn't realized how tall he'd grown, how broad, until he turned that strength in her direction, and she knew instinctively that he had hit the wall because a piece of him _wanted_ to hit her.

Nygus put a hand to her forehead and she jolted, rage dying down to be replaced with something past fear, something that knotted her guts and throbbed in her head. "What's he talking about, Maka?"

"I- I don't know," she whispered, staring at her hands, expecting somehow to see blood on them. Soul might be a man but all she saw in her hands was a girl, still just a girl, and not a very good one at that. "He woke up this morning and said I tried to take over his soul, but I was asleep. I don't understand. He ran from me." She blinked futilely at the salty tears in her eyes. "I don't remember anything but maybe I did something bad in my sleep? Soul doesn't lie, he was really upset. I don't think I've ever seen him like that." Maybe she was just destined to never get through her morning class in peace ever again.

Nygus sighed and shook her head, frown wrinkling the bandages that criss-crossed her ebony skin. "I'm not an expert on that, you'd have to talk to Stein. I personally have never done the things with Sid you and Soul have together. I hear you can go into a physical manifestation of his soul, since the infection of the black blood?"

Maka nodded mutely, beginning to hiccup. "It's kind of physical. I mean, our heads go there. Our bodies out here don't move- time goes slower." She was still staring at her hands and with a soft sob she wrenched her gaze away, curling up on the bed and giving in to Nygus' soft hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. It made her miss her mama with a vengeance. No one had been able to reach her. For all she knew, Kami didn't even know her ex was dead. "I really messed up," she breathed.

"Yes you did." Just like her matter-of-fact partner, the nurse was never one to spare feelings. "You two are going to have a lot of work ahead of you mending this, regardless of who's at blame, or why it came about." Her voice was calm and warm, and her words came through with burning clarity.

Maka curled up more tightly, staring at the empty beds and trying not to gag on the smells of antiseptic and bleach in her nose. Nygus kept talking though, even as she petted her body into a calmer state. "Sid and I fight a lot. He was even more pigheaded when he was alive, and before he lost the fear of death, he almost killed himself trying to keep me safe. He ended up tossing me into a river while I was in my knife form and taking on a beastie all by himself," she chuckled.

"And?" Maka returned softly. It was hard to listen, because she wanted to disappear forever and never have to face Soul's injured face again. The memory of it caused her an almost bodily pain, and the massive guilt was still smothering her.

"Well, it was a stupid decision, and let me tell you he paid for it, but it happens. You care about a person and you want to see them safe. Soul cares about you, Albarn, and he did the right thing taking you out of that classroom. He was worried about you."

Maka scowled stubbornly through her tears. "How am I supposed to keep going here now? The whole class saw. Everyone's gonna know I freaked out!"

"Not like there's another Academy you can transfer to," returned Nygus' firm voice. That was true, and it send Maka into more wrenching mental gyrations. She wanted to be a good meister and make her mama proud, but she didn't ever want to step foot in these walls again once she left. She wanted to stay partnered with Soul, but she also wanted... well... she flattened her face into the pillow, feeling her lips quiver uncontrollably, holding in a scream. Did she want something else? Her gut instincts threw an absolute nervous fit that she dared even think it. It felt like she was going to puke, but thankfully it passed.

"Sid and I dated for a while too," came the nurse's casual murmur, and Maka blinked at the thought of faculty dating. At the thought of partners dating. "Didn't work out in the end, but we managed to stay good friends, because we were open with each other. We stayed honest and we worked at both kinds of relationships. You gotta talk things out."

"Weapon-meister relationships are frowned upon in the school code as a distraction and a liability," Maka muffled from memory into the pillow.

"Please, you know how many partners end up together? It's ridiculous. Your mom and pa, I hear they did."

This was stupid. The wicked little voice in her head started railing at her again. _He doesn't want you anyway, so why are you even thinking something this dumb? He's gonna hate you so much you'll never even be able to fight again, he'll go to someone else. _The thought was so vivid she glanced around, halfway expecting to see someone speaking to her.

She sat up and rolled her legs off the bed, letting them dangle as she focused on her still erratic breathing. Her chest hurt. Behind her, Nygus made a concerned little noise in her throat. "I see you have a battle wound there on your dome, huh? Should have told me. If you have a concussion it could have exacerbated your panic attack."

"I didn't have a panic attack!" Maka growled, jerking her head away from Nygus' hands and hating herself for her whiny immature tantrum even as she did it

"Oh yes you did, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a reaction of your body to undue amounts of stress, it's a physical thing."

She could feel the nurse scowling at her, practically itching to mess with the bump on her head. After a moment she added, "Personally I'd rather have a panic attack and get it all out than drown my whole life in something as meaningless as pride."

That stung down deep and Maka pushed off the bed, ignoring the little dazed rush in her head. "I feel much better now, may I be excused," she droned, scuffling her feet as she stared at them. Her feet worked despite the icky shoes, but where were they supposed to take her now?

"Here, wipe your face," the demon blade sighed, handing her a wet washcloth, and Maka scrubbed away at the signs of tears. "This stress is not healthy for your body and it's not healthy for your partnership. Get a grip on it, whatever you have to do. Do yoga. Meditate. Cry. Run. Make some peace with your dad." Maka felt herself go rigid at that, face still buried in the washcloth. _That's none of her business at all, stupid woman! She should know her place! _trilled the voice, and she tamped it down forcefully. "That's my official advice as a nurse. I see you in here again and we'll be doing a lot more that you probably won't enjoy. I might even force you into therapy." Nygus waggled her fingers and made an exaggerrated scary face to underline the threat.

She refused to look at the wrapped-up woman as she cautiously left, checking the halls for signs of life. By some stroke of luck she managed to escape the school scott free, and she was shocked at how easy it was. It felt so deeply wrong leaving early that she had to actively fight the urge to go back, but she couldn't bear the eyes right now, so she drifted home, following the trash in the gutter like it was family. Her apartment surprised her when she reached it, the black walls Kid had left so dreary that she fled them, secreting herself away in her room and staring out the blinds. Soul wasn't home, he was no more than the faintest tickle off yonder in her head, and she cried again, pushing her forehead into her drawn-up knees and giving in to the flood.

* * *

It was hours until Soul could bring himself to go home, and in the end it was only the near-empty reading on his gas dial that made him turn around, since he'd left his wallet a home in his flight last night. He'd been thinking about it all day, about her sudden see-through self yanking him awake and into the Black Room, babbling and squirming like a being possessed. The crippling pain of her wavelength spearing sharply into his soul was the main memory in his head, but under that was the wrenching softness of her seeking lips, of her little hands raking through his hair.

Between those two things, it was damn hard to remember anything else, but he was pretty sure the murder birds would haunt him forever, and not only because they were creepy, but because she'd somehow changed without his consent what was the pure manifestation of his soul. It shook him, hell, it scared the shit out of him, because if she could do that in her sleep what could she do awake? Not to mention it felt like getting shanked with a rusty pitchfork dipped in salt.

Not that she'd do something that completely evil, not consciously anyway. It was beyond someone as pure as her. He knew her, and even right now in the middle of the most messed up situation ever, what with the loss of her dad, she was scared senseless of not being good enough, that her friends would leave her and the rest of the people school wouldn't like her anymore. It was stupid, but it was important to her, even though to him they mostly all sucked. Sitting at the kitchen table in the night as he tried to explain, she'd looked so absolutely baffled and saddened by the accusation that it almost made him doubt himself, until he remembered that pain of getting his soul taken.

The problem now, as he sped smoothly in and out of traffic under the laughing afternoon sun, was that he wanted to shake her until her bones rattled, force some sense into her. He was afraid of the blinding rage he'd felt towards her earlier, even as his logical self reminded him that she was hysterical and humiliated, needing someone to blame.

She could blame him if she needed to, normally, for pulling her out of class, so sudden and obvious. He'd take that hit for her and gladly if having a victim could get his old spitfire girl back in business. It was just that he didn't know what to do for her anymore, hadn't a clue in the world, and it had frightened him when suddenly Patty was mouthing at him across the classroom that Maka wasn't breathing! It had brought back the terror from the hotel room, when she was knocked unconscious.

Beyond that, he needed to open up the resonance anyway soon, because without her anti-demon wavelength he could feel the black blood tossing and sparking inside of him, trying to creep into his veins with lies and cunning, and he hated the slimy feeling to his bones.

So he hesitated for a long time outside the apartment, hand lightly on the doorknob and his forehead bent against the door, ignoring the black blood's whines and blandishments for the moment. He could only hope the tiny red demon in the Black Room hadn't seen Maka kiss him, because even though she must have been dreaming, it was something he couldn't think about for very long without getting hot and bothered. Not long at all, in fact, a couple seconds max, as uncool as that was. The demon loved embarrassing things like that with truly malicious glee.

Soul listened hard, but he couldn't hear anything from inside. He knew she was home, though. Even with their bond squished down to near-nothing he could feel her nearness when he reached. Even though she was the reason he was so pissed and out of sorts, her presence calmed him now; it was twisted, and it made him smile.

Finally he opened the door and there she was, limp and skinny against the black-painted walls of the kitchen. Jeez, Kid's taste in home decor was depressing as hell. He could see right into it from the doorway thanks to the wall Kid had somehow found it necessary to knock out between the living room and the kitchen.

She didn't hear him come in for a moment, so he coughed a little awkwardly, and she squeaked and whirled around from the stove, clutching a wooden spoon like it was her last lifeline to the world. Her eyes were so big he could see white all around, and damn if she didn't look adorable in that little frilly apron.

"Somethin' smells good," he said finally, a bit hoarsely, reminding himself over and over that Maka would never, ever intentionally hurt him as he commanded himself into letting the resonance up, just a tiny bit, but it made her smile like the sun for a second, though her face went right back to worry and flushing nervousness.

"I made dinner." An attempt at an apology, because she was the absolute worst at saying sorry in real words, especially for someone so smart. She flapped a hand at the stove, still looking at him, right into him desperately, and he could see tears glimmering in her eyes and the smudgy thumbprints of exhaustion under them. It cracked him right in two, all his anger and fear leaking out.

"Thank you," was all he said, but he pretty much ran at her and swooped her into his arms, and she clutched him, weeping up a storm, she practically climbed him like a koala. It was a nice change from her usual flails when he touched her.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she stammered plaintively into his shoulder. "I was so terrible, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing at all wrong with you, you're the coolest ever," he told her firmly, burying his face into her soft hair and sighing as everything felt okay again. He actually felt the tension ebb out of him like the tide, felt it sweep away and leave behind only a loose-limbed lassitude, warm and cozy. She felt like home, like a song you know every word to. "I'm sorry too, I was a royal frickin' asshole to you. I didn't mean anything I said."

"Me either," she said wetly, fervently, wrapping her slim arms around his neck and holding fast in a way that made it suddenly really hard to breathe. It surprised him when he realized he was holding her just as tight, and how far his arms went around her frame. For something that could cause so much trouble, she was so tiny, and a surge of protectiveness rocked him. "I swear I didn't mean to hurt you or anything, I don't remember going into the Black Room but it was an accident." That was a plea for forgiveness, and he growled.

"Don't even worry about it. Whatever it was it's over and I'm fine, don't stress." A ghost of remembered agony hit him and he made a face into her hair. "Uh, we're gonna have to figure out how not to do it again though. Talk to Stein or somethin'."

She was still crying so he brought a hand up to cradle the back of her delicate little bird neck, stroking it gently, astonished at how velvety it was. "You said I hurt you," she was saying tearfully.

"Please. Real men don't feel pain, you know that." She cackled a little under the tears and he could tell she was considering immediate methods to disprove that brash statement, because she had the same evil chuckle every time she was thinking something mischeivous. "We'll deal with all of that later," he breathed. "How 'bout we just not move for a bit?"

Ugh, crap, that was kind of girly and fluttery to say, and he mentally slapped himself on the forehead while preparing for the chop to his cranium, but she just pushed into him and nodded contently, which stunned him so much he almost forgot to enjoy it. Almost, but not quite.

* * *

Author says: Ahoy! Chapter three, already, amirite? This story's got me by the throat for some reason.

Hope you're all liking it. Again, thank you _sososo_ much for the reviews.

I love them. They make my day and they improve my writing. :) That little moment of your time to write one is the greatest thing ever to me.

Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Soul always hated being around Professor Stein, and one-on-one was even worse than just sitting in one of his classes. Whenever he got within ten feet of the scientist the demon in his blood went crazy, like it sensed the nearness of someone so prone to insanity. The man sent shivers up his spine, but Maka actually seemed to get along with the guy, and it confused the hell out of him. Maybe it was some weird bond between fellow nerds. He leaned back and tried not to chew on his nails, because they were ragged enough from everything that'd been happening lately.

"That's very interesting," Stein hummed, glasses glinting in Maka's direction as he steepled his long fingers. Soul wanted to bite him.

"Yeah, so there's that, although it's not verifiable-"

"Is so. I know what I felt, I didn't just _think_ you were gone," Soul put in roughly. She wriggled her fingers at him with barely a glance, deep in explanations. In spite of himself he felt the corners of his lips tug up as he watched her emote with her hands, big gestures, yet balletic in their grace; it was a huge improvement over the way she'd been yesterday in Nygus' infirmary, all balled up and tight with misery as she screamed at him. It was an effort to look away, even though the sunrise from the top office of Stein's laboratory was shaping up to be beautiful, watercolor washes of reddish-violet emerging from the indigo of the night. Of course Maka'd forced him awake to get this done before classes started. It was straight torture.

He sobered a little, sincerely grateful that there hadn't been a repeat of her soul-stealing antics last night. Maybe getting this straightened out was worth getting up before the sun.

"-So that, and then night before last Soul woke me up yelling." She hit a roadblock there, so he grunted and took over.

"She doesn't remember a thing, but all of a sudden I was awake- but I was in the Black Room, and I couldn't leave." He wouldn't have to explain the Room to Stein; the professor had been there since he got infected, he knew all about it. His scar itched under the other man's gray fixed stare. "She was there too, kinda pale ghosty looking, and she was talking funny. Like she couldn't hear me, and what she was saying didn't make any sense."

He still hadn't told her about the dream kiss, so he left that out, even though Stein's gaze narrowed just a fraction at his pause. "She got really upset. She was talking about her mom being mad, uh, that she made a mistake? I dunno, that was when it started hurting. She fell down and then there were all these big dead trees, that aren't supposed to be there."

"She changed your soul?" Stein murmured, cigarette smoke wafting into Soul's eyes; he coughed and spat, not bothering to hide his disgust. "It's so interesting how the black blood has created that little room in you..." He trailed off, cranking absently at the bolt in his head and peering at Soul like he was already flayed open and pinned to a table.

"Yeah. It was all her, believe me, I was tryin' to fight it off because it hurt really frickin' bad." Beside him Maka wriggled a little, so he dropped a hand on hers for a moment, stilling her down. They'd had enough guilt trips yesterday to last a lifetime. "Then she was gone, and I wasn't in the Room anymore, I was awake, but I couldn't move because she was..." Think. "Kind of absorbing my soul. I could feel her pulling it away from- uh, wherever it's supposed to be, I couldn't really do anything but yell, and it made her wake up, and it stopped. Oh, man, and there were these creepy ass black birds everywhere she made too. She called them a murder."

"A murder of crows," the professor said, eyebrows rising just a hair.

"Yeah! That's what she said." He shot a glance at Maka, who was looking smugly satisfied that she'd gotten it right even while trying to shred him up in her sleep. "She mentioned it when we were both awake, too. Like I told her about the crows and she said almost the exact same words she did in the dream. It was weird shit."

There was an awkward pause. Stein just took a drag off his cigarette, letting out a skull-shaped puff of smoke as he watched them. The seconds ticked by.

"So, uh, should we be worried, Professor?" Maka finally asked, fidgeting.

"Hell yeah we should be worried, that stuff really hurt," Soul muttered sulkily.

It took another half a minute before the Professor said anything, but finally he spun around on his rolling chair and scooted his way out the office door and down the hallway outside it, squeaking rustily all the way, his sturdy boots making Maka practically green with envy. He returned with something in his hand, but he kept it hidden, even though both the students craned their necks. Soul prepared to leap out the lab window in case it was a scalpel or chloroform or something equally Stein-ey, but the professor's voice went so suddenly serious when he next spoke that it drew his attention back with a snap.

"You both know that the kishin Asura, a technician, gained the ability to devour innocent souls by swallowing his own weapon." They nodded a bit nervously. The air in the room seemed heavy all of a sudden, thick and choked with ill portent, and a memory from many years ago suddenly flashed into Soul's head; his beautiful, classy mother a crumpled mess on their living room floor, the day he found out he was a weapon. He could still remember the sound of her sobs. Whatever Stein was about to say, for some reason he just knew it wouldn't be good. In his head, Maka's distant presence was giving off nervous little chimes, though her face was smooth.

Stein seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and for once he wasn't only talking to Maka, but dividing his attention equally between the two of them. "That's not the only way a meister has been able to consume souls. It's an incredibly rare phenomenon, and poorly documented, but it has happened, even if no one likes to talk about it."

"Okay..." Maka said slowly, urging him on as he paused. Soul spared her a quick glance as the chimes came faster and she was white-knuckling the side of her chair. Apparently she had the same bad feeling he did. Why couldn't anything go right for them lately?

"What I'm saying to you is that it is entirely possible for a meister with strong spiritual powers, one like you, Maka, to consume an innocent soul without the aid of a weapon. That's the first step to becoming a kishin. The fact that you're so used to entering his soul, due to the help of the Black Room, probably only made it easier."

She swayed, eyes going very dark, trying to see around the sunrise reflection on his glasses. "Are you saying that- that's what I did?" she said hoarsely.

"It seems that way, yes." Stein looked away as he said it, fiddling with one of the many stitches criss-crossing his dingy lab coat. He actually looked sad, which was somehow more horrifying than if he'd kept his usual impassioned expression. "It's apparent to any one who knows you that you wouldn't do such a thing deliberately. I'm not worried about you turning down that path, but this is a serious matter."

Here he took another long pause, staring pensively down at whatever he held in his hand, ignoring the ash that dropped from his cigarette. "I can't explain why this happened, other than that I believe it was simply an accident. You've been under an astonishing amount of stress lately, and you've been in some sticky battles too, says the grapevine. I would hypothesize that your subconscious somehow mistook Soul for a threat and lashed out during an otherwise normal dream. We don't need to worry unless it happens again."

"If it happens again I could die!" Soul blurted, on the edge of his seat. Beside him, Maka's breath was hissing through her clenched teeth, and he wanted to simultaneously hide her away like a princess in a tower and set the world on fire, because lately every goddamn corner of it seemed to be conspiring to give her more things to feel bad about. He was supposed to protect her, to keep her from all harm, but one thing after another kept getting past him to wound her and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop them. It sent a sick punch of frustration through his chest, a spike of failure that made him clench his jaw.

"Yes, that would be bad, wouldn't it," Stein said lazily, blowing smoke from his nostrils like a bull. "That's why I'm giving you this." He held up his calloused hand and something on a silver chain dropped from it, bouncing and dancing in the first rays of the morning light. They both squinted at it.

"A necklace?" Great. He'd look like a girl on top of all their other problems. Maka felt his mood sour even futher and stomped on his foot as if that would help.

"Wonderful observational skills, Soul," the professor said dryly. "It is indeed. This is a very old demon tool. It's getting up there in years, but it should do the trick. It provides protection from attacks of spiritual energy, such as getting your soul eaten. It may make resonating on the level you two are accustomed to more difficult, though, so don't go running off into battle without a little practice first." He flicked it into Soul's lap and it lay there, shining innocuously.

Soul picked it up; it felt very, very cold. The silver pendant was a simple round disc about the size of his thumbnail, perfectly smooth and polished to a mirror shine. It looked disappointingly normal. Maka snatched it out his hands before he could do any more looking and began her own thorough examination, bringing it so close to her face she nearly went cross eyed.

"I can't feel anything coming off of this," she told Stein finally, lips pressed thin. "Are you sure it's a demon tool? Those are so powerful... aren't artifacts like these supposed to be in the care of Lord Death? Like Brew?"

The professor gave a low chuckle, ignoring her last question. "You can't feel it because it's doing what it should. You tried to examine it with your wavelength, and it pushed it away."

She frowned down at it, nibbling on her lower lip, one foot tap-tap-tapping impatiently on the floor. "Are you sure we'll still be able to resonate enough to fight?"

Stein stood up abruptly and gave a massive stretch, finishing the motion by grabbing his chin and shoving it to the side, a sickening chorus of pops echoing like gunfire as his neck cracked. He gave a mirthless laugh, flipping his chair around and sitting on it cowboy style, chin leaning on the backrest, and started rolling away. Each thump of his boots as they pulled him forward out the door rang like a church bell at a funeral.

"You'll do just fine, feel free to come see me with any more questions," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the depths of his laboratory, but his tone suggested quite the opposite, and Soul and Maka were left looking at each other with almost identical disturbed expressions, mirror images of fear.

She sighed and handed the demon tool back to him, though she gave it a suspicious look. "Well, put it on so I don't accidentally murder you," she told him, with a terrible forced laugh. He took it and slung it over his neck, tucking it under his t-shirt. It was so cold on his bare skin that it felt almost like it was burning him, and he shivered before grabbing at hand as she moved to leave.

"I'm not mad at you, Maka," he said, trying to get that hunted look off her face. "It wasn't on purpose, it's not a big deal."

She put an arm over her face, hunching over a little, and the undiluted pain of the motion was almost obscene. "It is too a big deal," she muttered. "He said it himself, this happened because I'm all stressed out and I can't deal with it like a normal person."

Soul suppressed the strong urge to kick her. "That's bullshit." He was struggling, because even after their ordeal yesterday, she was sinking right back into the same morass of guilt.

"If you died I think I would too," she breathed into her arm, and he froze, swallowing hard. She dropped the words from her lips lightly, but they fell straight down like dead butterflies.

"I won't die," was all he could think to say, but he wrote the words on his bones as he promised her, watching the red sunrise light come in through the window and turn her into a surreal statue of blood. What was the old sailor proverb? "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning," he said out loud, trying to remember.

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight," she finished, taking her forearm from her face and looking right at him. Even her eyes were painted by the scarlet light.

"Uh, yeah. I was lookin' at the sunrise," he rushed to explain, not wanting her to think he was talking to himself, but she just gave him a tired little smile.

"Come on, we're gonna be late." She didn't let go of his hand as they walked out of Stein's lab, and it made his pulse thrum. He laced his fingers with hers, trying to convey with every part of him that even if she did kill him he wouldn't be angry with her.

She climbed up behind him on the motorcycle and he let the adrenaline of holding her hand for so long take him over. If she was allowed now to say gushy, meaningful, sappy things, so was he, so he half-turned and grunted at her, "My soul's yours anyway, so quit stressing," and gunned it, swooping through the morning traffic rush like a bat out of hell.

If she said anything back, he couldn't hear it over the wind and the motor, but he decided he wouldn't take it back even if she threw a fit. Some things had to be said.

She didn't throw a fit when he pulled up to the entrance of the Academy, but her cheeks were pink in a way that made him smirk to himself. The happiness he felt faded when she put her mask back on. It was so sudden and obvious, so deliberate. She changed right before his eyes into a stranger as she readied for battle, and he couldn't believe her courage, even after all the times she'd proven herself. The people inside meant the world to her, or their opinions at least, and yet here she was, already ready to fight back against yesterday's panic attack debacle.

"Ready?" he asked her idly, and she nodded. He forced her a trail through the crowds of students, and as she followed behind him, head held high, déjà vu hit him so strongly that it made him stumble. The day after Spirit died, he'd done this same service for her, warned off all the prying eyes and served as her bodyguard. He hadn't minded then and he didn't mind now. It just sharpened his focus, and the cold of the medallion on his chest was the punctuation of his mantra- keep her safe. Keep her safe. The dread that he'd felt in the Paris hotel room had been revived just now, seeing her anointed in that bloody light, and maybe he was being paranoid but it felt like there was a storm on the horizon.

Maka was feeling no such foreboding things, as the stares of her gossipy classmates were more than enough to keep her brain occupied. Stein, somehow having beaten them here, blew a perfect smoke ring in her direction with a cold reptilian grin. She concentrated very hard on keeping her face passive, and it seemed to work because no one said anything to her about her breakdown the day before; small mercies, because if their mouths said nothing their eyes surely did.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed down on her as Stein began his lecture. She was beginning to hate eyes; always staring, examining her like a bug under a microscope, trying to pull out all her secrets. At least her classmates were quiet now, and she hadn't dropped spontaneously dead from humiliation, so that was something.

Soul was sitting droopily beside her, eyes closed as he napped, and she stole a sideways glance at him, his voice from earlier strong in her ears, telling her she had his soul. It shook her up. She felt both uncomfortable and gleeful thinking about it, but how was that possible? Weren't they mutually exclusive? He opened one eye just a sliver and looked back at her. Suddenly she didn't hate eyes so much, for some reason.

The day took forever, but finally, finally it was done and over. The whole thing wasn't anywhere near as much fun as it should be; it seemed unreal that she'd used to love it here, but now everywhere she looked she saw either her papa or herself doing something dumb. She left Black Star a bleeding stuttering heap on the floor when he tried to pick her up and hold her upside down, because she was in a _skirt_, and she and Soul walked out of the school in mutual relief.

She could tell he was tired. As soon as they walked into the apartment, he went straight for the couch, flopping down on it so hard it jumped, so she decided to let him nap for a while before they experimented with the demon tool. Surprisingly though, he sat up after only a minute, and in one of those eerie moments of mind reading asked her when they were going to let the resonance open. It took her a moment to realize the black blood was probably positively wild, after a full night and day with their link so thin- they'd kept it low while sleeping, both of them nervous about what might happen if they didn't, and all day at school as well.

"We can do it now, I guess, if you're not tired," she told him, and he just raised a brow at her. She settled in next to him on the couch, very firmly ignoring the recollection of waking up on top of him in this exact spot, and she threw open their resonance.

Nothing happened, and she reeled, putting her hands out. It was disorienting, like stepping off an extra stair when only the solid floor was expected. "Where are you?" she half-begged, and he ran his hands through his white hair, looking put out.

"I dunno. Man, I didn't feel anything. Come on, again." She shut her eyes and reached out, but he felt slippery, sliding away from her in the most tantalizing way, even though she knew he was reaching too. That demon tool was doing its job, almost too well- how would they ever fight like this?

On the fourth try they finally got it, and she sighed in unutterable relief as he was back in her mind, solidly and warmly, a wry sarcastic sizzle who was extremely happy at the moment.

"Missed you too," she joked, aware that she was grinning from ear to ear but unable to stop it. He was smiling too.

"Whew," he muttered, flopping back down, and she pinked because she was sitting where his feet would go if he were fully stretched out. She stood up and went to grab her laptop, itching to research that little silver amulet, but his big hand closed around her wrist. She blinked down at him and he looked off over her shoulder, thinking.

"Wanna take a nap?" he said finally, returning his gaze to her face. She snorted automatically and tried to move away but he didn't let go. The familiar bite of panic rose into her mouth. She'd let him hold her hand this morning, what did he expect now? What should she do? He tugged a little, gently, and she was so stiff she nearly fell over.

"I missed you. Yesterday and today," he told her as she trembled, and if they hadn't only just gotten it back she would have stomped their bond down to a battered thread, because his words were doing things to her that she knew he could feel.

"So?" she managed to squeak. He tugged on her wrist again, looking up at her calmly, belying the sleepiness mixed with heated want that was coming through the link.

"So come take a nap. I've had this really bad feelin' all day. I know you're tired too." He was so matter of fact about saying such things!

"Since when do we nap together," she gulped.

"Since I want to," he said, a bit loudly, obviously getting irritated at her stupid question, though he didn't move at all. She was the one who'd invited him into bed in Paris two night ago, after all, and now she wanted to dispute it? "Please?" He was really worried about something. He felt like she did the night before a test; a buzzing bundle of runaway thoughts and second-guessing, and she didn't know why he felt that way.

It got to her, though, and after their spat yesterday she was still feeling the edges of imminent abandonment eating at her. This was normal. It didn't mean anything. It was just a nap, the couch happened to be comfortable. Everything would be fine.

His presence in her head gave a satisfied little blip as he felt her about to give in, and it was the impetus she needed to wrench her wrist loose, ignoring the hurt on his face. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said, working on putting some steel in her voice.

He actually growled at her, then, eyes flashing. "Maka, I have this feeling like something really bad is coming and it's freaking me out. I just- gah!" He fell backwards, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his face, and despite her resolve of seconds ago she felt her body moving towards his.

"Don't you dare touch me," she commanded, using her full meister voice, even as she was aware of how ludicious that command was. He'd have to touch her if they were both going to fit on that little couch. He lit up, though, opening his arms to her with a sideways little smile as the pillow fell off his face.

"Okay." He immediately did, though, wrapping his arms around her and hefting her half-on top of him before she had time to even think about where the nearest book was. She felt her face positively burning at her own awkwardness, though he didn't seem to mind, shutting his eyes comfortably. She felt silly and vulnerable, though. What was she supposed to do with her body? She felt like an octopus lying there, floppy and with far too many uncontrollable limbs.

"Relax. If you really wanna leave you can," he said with a yawn, loosening his hands a bit from around her, and she blew out a huge breath of relief, because she'd felt scarily stuck.

Forcing herself to breathe the entire time, she managed to loosen up her locked limbs and get mostly comfortable on her side with her back against the backrest of the couch and the rest of her on his chest, though in the end she had to put her leg partially over his. She tucked her head under his chin timidly, head still so full that she highly doubted she'd be able to go to sleep. Maka liked things classified, neatly labeled and organized, but whatever this was it was both brand new and unnameable, which made her fret.

She poked at the bond, futiley trying to tamp down her tension. He was still wide awake, but he felt very... controlled. Like he was concentrating on something. There was still sleepiness, and still that pre-test worry, but under that he just felt focused. What was he so intent on? The ridiculous naked curves of the cover model on that magazine she'd stumbled upon suddenly popped into her head, and the malicious little voice started to laugh. _He's wishing he had something else laying on top of him, something that didn't look like a starving twelve year old, that's for sure. _

"What are you thinking about?" she heard herself say, and it was as if someone else was speaking through her lips.

He cracked his eyes open a little and cricked his head awkwardly to peer at her. "Random shit. Why are you so upset all of a sudden?" She felt a flush of fury hit her. Random. Right. She knew what he wanted, D-cups attached to severe daddy issues, and she only had one of those things. That was probably the only reason he missed Blair at all, he was so deprived without her parading around half-naked that he'd had to settle for her.

"This is the dumbest idea you've ever come up with," she said sourly, clambering off him as quickly as she could without falling and heading to her room, ignoring his startled voice behind her and the tears prickling her eyes. Would she ever stop crying?

She managed to shut the door to her room in his face just as he tried to dive inside, and she turned the lock with shaking hands.

"Open the goddamn door right now and tell me what's wrong!" he yelled, and his fists shook the walls.

"No," she screamed back, aware of how idiotic it was to carry on an argument through a door, but she didn't think she could stand seeing his face right now. He'd been pushing at her all day, holding her hand like it was something delicate and precious, guarding her at school, telling her she had his soul. She'd been so happy when he walked into the apartment last night, so over the moon when he didn't hold her terrible words against her, and here she was doing it again. For a moment she wondered with astounding clarity if she was possessed, or mentally ill, or being poisoned somehow with evil, because even as she fought with him she was aware that what she truly wanted was to be back on the couch with him, his heartbeat in her ear.

"Are you brain damaged?" she added for good measure, feeling her nails dig into the palms of her fisted hands. "I can't do this! I can't be whatever it is you want!"

A muffled curse sounded through her door. "You don't even know what I fucking want because any time we talk about something deeper than the weather you lose your shit completely!" It sounded like he was trying very hard to control himself, and his presence in her mind confirmed it- despite a reasonably reined-in tone, he was boiling with frustration.

"We're partners!" she returned sharply. "That's it! That's all! Okay? I know you're trying to be so nice to me because you feel sorry for me or whatever but you don't have to, I'm not a stray dog! I need you in battle and that's it!" It felt like she was floating as she spoke the words, and all she could see through the blur of tears was her mama, crying on the floor with another woman's underwear in her hands. Maka had been the one to find them as she helped her mama do laundry, bright pink and lacey as they stuck out of her papa's jacket pocket. She's been so little she hadn't understood their significance, but Kami's face when she took them was so terrible it couldn't be forgotten, no matter how she tried, no matter how much she tried to fill her head up with books.

She felt even worse about the fact that she missed her daddy so, when he'd done so many awful things. What did it say about her that she'd been weak enough to give into him, to love him in spite of it all?

With a start she realized Soul was gone from outside her room, and she distantly caught the sound of his motorcycle engine rumbling to life. She'd done it again. She realized that she was on the floor so she crawled over to her bed and under the covers like a slug, leaving a trail of tears behind her, and proceeded to soak her pillow.

Then, like a shining flame, Soul's presence bounced back at the same time she caught the slamming of the apartment door. He hadn't even been gone long enough for her to get a handle on this crying, why was he back so early?

Before she had time to do much of anything he was hammering on her bedroom door again. "Open it!" His voice was low and gruff and she shrank back into the bed, shaking her head wordlessly, pushing the bond away despite how hard they'd had to work to get it back, because she couldn't bear to feel the pain in him and know it was all because of her.

Then a grinding crunch brought her head up and she goggled at her door, Soul's blade stuck straight through it. He twisted and it cracked from top to bottom, wood splintering with a groan. The blade morphed into familiar skin as he reached through the hole, scrabbling for her lock, and she leapt out of bed to stop him. It didn't work. He got to it first and flung open the door with a crash, barely missing her as she landed at his feet, hands still reaching for the lock.

She put her arms over her head to keep him from seeing her, blind with shame. He snarled as he flung something heavy at her. "Here!" Looking through her arms, she felt like lightning had struck her, because there were her lucky combat boots, polished and repaired, looking good as new.

He breathed ragged and loud above her as she stared up at him, unable to get a single word out. "There! I saved them from the hotel and took 'em to get fixed. Fucking enjoy." With that he whirled around and disappeared, and she was left sitting alone among the splinters of her door dropping her endless tears into the boots she cradled.

She pulled them on after a moment, buckled them up and flexed her feet, forgetting her still-sore ankle. They fit like a dream, as they always had, perfectly broken in, and the new leather and metal of the replaced buckle gleamed like it was laughing at her.

Her phone was in her hand in another second, grabbed only half-consciously, and she dialed Kami's number for the thousandth time. It took her aback when her mother's voice actually answered instead of the answering machine of the past three weeks.

"Hello?" She started sobbing even more fiercely at the nearly forgotten crispness of her mama's voice, competence and sensibility apparent in even the smallest syllable.

"Mama, mama, mama," was all she could whimper around her closed up throat. She felt dizzy again.

"Maka? Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Maka actually pulled her cell phone away from her head to stare at it like it was a snake, feeling the too-familiar pulse of fury, so hot that it burned away most of the tears and hysteria for a moment. "Haven't you gotten anyone's messages?" she whispered, still unable to believe it was actually her mom on the other end of the line. How long had it been since they'd spoken?

"No, I've been out of service a lot, I'm doing this really wonderful technician educational program for the Asian division," came the cheerful reply. "Are you crying, honey?"

"Yes I'm crying!" she moaned, because the spots were back in front of her eyes. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit down on it savagely, trying to quench the rage building in her. She wanted to kill something so badly that the coppery smell of blood was actually right there, she could smell it, and it made her even more nauseous at the same time as it fanned her anger. "Papa's dead! He's been dead for weeks! Why didn't you answer? I needed you!"

Silence, then a broken sigh. "Spirit's dead?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Oh, Death, what did he do? Did he make someone's boyfriend mad?"

Before Maka could even begin to answer someone snatched the phone out of her hand, and she pulled herself up with a cry. Her weapon held her off, though, grunting with effort as he held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and used both his hands to fend her off.

"Kami Albarn?" he said, in a voice so menacing that it warded Maka back. He turned glaring red eyes on her and she backed up further. He looked like a man deranged, driven past the point of sanity, pupils dilated and face pale under his tan, hair sticking up all over as if he'd been yanking on it.

A moment, and then he replied to whatever her mama had said, eyes still fixed on Maka like she was dinner. "Yeah, her weapon, and let me tell you you are the worst goddamn mother I've ever met and I know messed up families. No, you listen. Maka has been fucking killing herself to deal with all this shit and what have you been doing? Yeah, he's sitting in a goddamn box in her closet and she's fallin' apart because she wants to be like you for some fucking reason I can't figure out!"

Maka sat down on her bed and put her face in her hands, shaking, feeling feverish and ill, because he was doing that thing again where he read her thoughts, the ones she wasn't brave enough to voice. It sounded like her mama was yelling at him, tinny and unintelligible, but audible in sheer volume even from across the bedroom.

"Yeah? Really? Lady, if I ever meet you you're gonna have a lot more to worry about than what he did to your fuckin' credit!" Soul exclaimed, face incredulous; he had a hand in his hair again. "No, an aneurysm popped, but it's nice that that's the first thing your mind went to, I'm sure Maka loved hearing that about her dad!" Another pause. "You haven't seen the man in years, you don't know shit! He took damn good care of her, he loved her!" He was vibrating with anger, face fixed in a rictus like an animal as he thrust the phone at Maka, finally shoving it into her hand when she was too slow to react.

She hung up on her mother's shouts and put her head back in her hands, and the unexpected action quieted him. He was just standing there, she could feel him watching her, could feel his gaze tracing her like hands of fire, and she didn't know what to do. "I really want to tell you I'm sorry but I don't know if it means anything anymore," she told him at last, though she still couldn't meet his gaze.

He sighed heavily. "Maka, I'm trying really hard but for some reason it just seems to make you hate me more."

She flinched at that. How could the center of her whole world think something like that? "I don't hate you! I love you!" The words flew out of her like they had a life of their own, and she looked at him over the hands she'd clapped to her mouth.

He was wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking totally at a loss. "What'd you say?" he finally managed.

"Nothing!" It came out strangled and weak. Her body was so hot, she was surely about to die, and her lungs felt paralyzed. He was looking at her so carefully, the slightest crinkle between his pale brows, looking at her like she was his saviour.

"Say it again." Suddenly he was the meister and she the weapon, because she obeyed him without conscious thought.

"I love you."

He just kept looking at her with the strangest light in his eyes. A distant part of her overheated brain wondered if this was how Chrona felt all the time, unable to deal, and if so, how he'd managed to do anything other than hide away forever. She felt immobilized under his gaze, even as she squirmed, terrified, wiping away her tears as fast as they came.

"Don't you dare say that if you don't mean it," he demanded, staying far across the room even as he took ownership of her. "If you don't mean it take it back. Right now. This is it, I swear to Death."

With a whimper, she shattered. "I won't take it back!" She flung it him defiantly through her tears as her feet shook in their boots, because the scope of this was making her want to run, but his brilliant eyes were making her want to stay forever. He was across the room then, and she squeaked as he pushed her back on the bed, bowing over her with one knee on the mattress, pinning her down with his eyes more than his hands.

"I love you too." Her weapon, her best friend, her twisted protector, her gravity, and he was saying those words to her in the gentlest of voices, tracing her cheekbone with a quivering hand. She thawed to the core and grabbed him, pulling his lips to hers so sharply that their teeth clacked. The kiss was harsh and seeking, but he cradled her face tenderly in both hands, stopping her tears like magic.

When he pulled away, she blushed at finding she wanted more. He was smiling, panting as he pressed his forehead to hers, and she blushed harder at the look on his face.

"You gonna do that everytime we fight? Cuz I could get used to it," he laughed, and she laughed with him.

"Shut up." How could they argue so bloodthirstily and then the next minute be like this again? It had something to do with the light freckles dusting his cheeks, she decided, mesmerized by his closeness. He just kept grinning at her. Inside the link were fireworks.

"You broke my door and you yelled at my mama," she said in wonder.

"Well, she needed it. And Kid's still gotta fix our apartment anyway, we'll just call the new door interest." His eyes sharpened on something as she raised her hand to his face. "You're bleeding... is that a bite mark?"

She was disappointed when he let her sit up to better examine her hand. "Uh, yeah, I guess." She hadn't even realized she'd done that, she'd been too wild to know.

"You do this? Cuz no one gets to bite you but me." She quaked at that. He hauled her off the bed and into the bathroom, rummaging under the sink for the antibacterial cream, and she tried very hard not to look at his glinting teeth.

"There." He dabbed the wound one more time before pronouncing it done, and then they were caught up in grinning at each other again. "Wanna take that nap now?"

She was shocked to feel the same old fear. Apparently whatever her hangups were, they wouldn't disappear with a kiss like a fairy tale. She made herself nod, because she did want it, and followed him out of the bathroom, stumbling when he didn't turn towards the couch.

"My room or yours?"

Her heart gave a wobbble. "Uh... what? What do you mean?" Death, but she sounded like a little girl, and she got nervous all over again.

He folded his arms and leaned on the wall, giving her that sinful sideways smile, practically glowing. "Don't worry, I'll be a good boy," he told her, with an insufferable smirk that made her fingers tingle for a book, but she could feel that he meant it, that he was trying to reassure her.

"Uh." Her territory or his? Her love of privacy took over strongly. "Y-yours?" At least if she had to run again she would have a place to escape to; the knowledge soothed her. He opened the door with a flourish and a bow.

"After you."

She snorted at him, trying to swallow down the dryness in her throat as she went into his room. It was already destroyed, all Kid's hard cleaning work for naught. Soul came in behind her and the door shutting made her jump, but he ignored it, sending his shoes flying across his room and flopping into his bed just as hard as he'd landed on the couch earlier. It seemed to be his preferred method of lying down. What else would she learn about him now? She'd thought she knew it all, but apparently not. A research opportunity!

Taking a firm hold on her resolve, she crept in beside him under the quilt, taking care to set her boots upright and neatly together on the floor first. He didn't do anything, he let her come to him, thankfully, which gave her a moment to calm her heart before curling up to him, head on his shoulder. He was still smiling even as his eyes were shut, and she found herself doing it too. They probably looked like a right pair of fools, but somehow as she drifted off, she didn't mind. Whatever bad feeling he'd had earlier, it was obviously mistaken, because this was the best she'd felt in a long time.

* * *

Author says: Voila! Chapter four, complete with fluff!** Thank you again**, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed.

My dad's service was a week ago (yes, it was four months after his death, but only because I had to fight my mom tooth and nail to have one at all) so I think that experience will take part in how I write the next chapter. Funerals are such surreal things.

Anyway, hope you liked. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Something warm and delectably soft on top of him was the first thing Soul noticed upon waking later. The room was dark, and it took him a moment to push his way to full awareness. Even though waking up sucked, it wasn't wasted effort, he decided, because that warm soft weight was his exceedingly asleep meister. He squinted down at the top of her head, glowing like a halo in what little moonlight managed to filter through his blinds, and it seemed like a dream, so much so that he gave himself a sly little pinch.

No, not a dream. Just fuckin' awesome reality, because she _loved_ him. If he didn't have a reputation to uphold he might just go dance around the room. She also seemed to have a knack for sprawling on him in a way that made at least one of his limbs fall asleep, every time. At the moment, it was his left arm, smashed between their stomachs.

He could totally deal with that, though. Unfortunately he also had to pee, and that was something he couldn't just ignore. Finally he admitted defeat and tried to slither out from under her.

She immediately woke partially up and blinked up at him owlishly from her spot on his chest. "You look way cute," he was compelled to inform her. She flushed all the way from her neck to her forehead.

"Uh, yeah, sure." One hand rose self-consciously to her messy hair and he smacked it away. She slit her eyes at him.

"I gotta pee."

"Okay?"

"Maka, you're kind of laying on me."

She made a noise like a mouse and promptly rolled off him. Coming back from the bathroom and trying to shake the static out of his arm, he stopped in the doorway to soak in the sight of her curled up in his bed. She was already almost asleep again, he noted, giving a light poke to their bond. The demon tool was obviously doing its job, because even though they'd gone to sleep with the resonace going strong, it was just a trickle now.

He got back in beside her, relishing the body heat, and tried very hard not to bite her neck, even though it was temptingly exposed. She murmured something pianissimo. "Mm?"

"... bad mistake..."

He jolted upright so fast that the headboard thwacked against the wall. "What the fuck?" Panic made him clench his fists. There was no way she was already regretting this. She'd promised, he'd made her, she'd said she wouldn't take it back. He just fucking got her, finally, after years of stymied stifled hopeless longing and now she dangling the word 'love' in front of him and yanked it away?

She turned over to face him, startled, rubbing her eyes. "Soul? What's wrong?"

"What did you just say?"

"Huh? I didn't- nothing..." She gazed at him in sleepy confusion, and the moonlight hit her again. She lit up like an angel, blonde hair gleaming all around her head, eyes so big and dark he thought he could fall in. She looked holy, and his breath stuttered. In his head, he heard faint little dings, a timid bell, clear and light as she met his gaze, as a faint smile curved her lips. Those doe eyes got even deeper. Was that the sound of her love for him?

"Uh. I thought you said something." He was acting like a psycho, so freaked out over something that hadn't even happened that he was hearing things. She'd obviously been asleep. He shook his head. "Never mind, sorry."

She furrowed her eyebrows a little, yawning, and when she sat up he almost wanted to push her back down again, so he could watch her bathe in the moonlight. "Oh." She leaned around him to glance at the alarm clock and he saw her tense. There went his bed warmer. "Crud! It's one in the morning, Soul, what happened to a little nap?"

He put his hands up, too completely giddy to be truly annoyed at her accusing tone. "Hey, not my fault you forgot to set an alarm. What's the big deal anyway? Come back to sleep." She blushed again, endearingly, twiddling with the ends of her hair.

"I can't now that I'm up," his meister said a bit despairingly. "I slept too long. Besides, I'm in my school clothes... it's not comfy now that I'm not tired."

What a disappointment. She was nibbling on her lower lip in that way he liked, so he leaned in to kiss it. He would have though he was entitled now, but she jumped and leaned back like he had the plague or something, eyes going big. A bolt of disappointment shot through him, laced with fear again. "What? I can't kiss you? There's a one-eighty for ya." He tried to bite down the irritation in his voice, because it wasn't fair to make her feel badly for something she couldn't help, but she dropped her eyes and he knew he'd failed.

"I- sorry, I just- I didn't expect it. I'm still not used to," she flapped her hands around wildly, encompassing the whole room, "-any of this, Soul, I'm sorry, I-"

He grabbed her hands before she could flip out any more. "Chill, chill, I should have asked. It's my bad." He meant it; he didn't want to rush her. Well, a specific part of him very much wanted to, but little Evans would just have to deal for a while, because only the most uncool of guys would pressure a girl they loved- who loved them back. He could feel himself grinning again. She, though, didn't move at all. "Uh, so, can I kiss you?" He felt like a little kid saying it, but she gave that sweet chime in his head again, and it made his heart jump.

"Yeah," she breathed. Victory! He battled down a rather ferocious urge to fist-pump and leaned in, trying to be slow, even if most of his brain was whooping about the girl in his bed and how hot she was. She did look hot, like a pinup almost, long legs tangled up in his sheets as her skirt rode up; it was both disorienting and exciting to see his modest, careful meister in such a state, sleepy and mussed and gorgeous. She kissed him hesitantly at first, very slowly, but after several seconds he felt her hands smoothing up his arms as she leaned in more firmly.

He felt her hot tongue touch his lower lip with far more than mild surprise, but when he opened his mouth a little and she dived in he understood. The damn girl was studying him like a science project, studying their kissing, absorbing this new experience with full attention just like she did everything else. He tried to be pissed but he couldn't with her tongue tangling so deliciously, if a bit clumsily, with his. His hands drifted over to settle on her hips with a mind of their own.

She pulled back first, probably a good thing because his hands had now mysteriously wandered to the tops of her silky thighs despite all his no-pressure resolutions, and by the way she immediately shoved her face into the crook of his neck, she was hiding a bright red face.

With titanic effort, he removed his palms from her legs and put his arms around her. "Can we please go back to bed?" he begged.

She glanced at the alarm clock again and was magically, instantly, all business. "No! I had homework I was supposed to do tonight! I'll have to do it now before we go to classes." Dammit.

"Ugh, fine, have fun."

"Oh no you don't, you have the same assignment due tomorrow too!" She tried to climb over him and escape, but he caught her around the waist. Maybe he could persuade her, because the bed was warm and homework was lame.

With a smile, he noted that she was now straddling his knees, so he tugged her up a little, fully onto his lap with her legs on either side of his hips. She was frozen like a mouse under the eye of a snake, and it immediately broke his enthusiasm. 'Shaking with nerves' wasn't really a good look on her, and he reprimanded himself sharply for causing it. One moment she wanted to play tonsil hockey, and the next she was shying away from him like he was poison.

Oh, well, that was Maka, his bipolar symphony. It made life interesting.

"Gah, slavedriver. Fine. Let's do this." He let her go and she sent him a relieved smile.

"'Kay." She bounded out the door with disgusting energy, but at the very edge of his room she paused for just a second, throwing him a look over her shoulder that made his pulse skip. In his head, there were the delicate jingles of a bell again, and for once he was the one turning red.

Then it was gone, because old-school Maka, Queen of the Nerds, was back in business, loudly listing the dire consequences he would face if he didn't get out of bed right now and start writing that essay.

They puttered around for the rest of the night, finishing homework, then watching weird infomercials and drinking hot chocolate until the sun began to rise and they had to get ready for school. It made him grumpy, because he wanted to sit and listen to the rise and fall of her laugh longer.

"At least it's Friday," she told him appeasingly as he grumbled and cursed the whole way to school. She'd wanted to walk, since they had so much extra time, and the morning weather was lovely, balmy and breezy with just a hint of the upcoming fall in the air. He suspected the other part of her reasoning was to work out that stiff ankle, but she seemed to be moving fine on it, so he let it slide. The sky wasn't red this morning, and for some reason that filled him with unutterable relief.

"Yeah, yeah. What are we gonna do this weekend?" He was hoping she wouldn't drag him off to another mission so soon.

She put a slim finger to her lips distractingly. "Uh- well, I was going to plan my dad's service," she admitted quietly. "It's already been way too long."

He rolled that around in his head, grabbing her hand while she was distracted, hoping to brighten her up a little. "If I can help, let me know." How strange that just holding hands could make something they'd done a hundred times before seem so... couple-y. She had her mask on, but in his head she was a shrinking blob of worries, punctuated by cheerful chimes only when he squeezed her hand- but at least he could do that much.

"_You_ can't help," is what he thought he heard then, but when he looked at her sharply she was still strolling along, eyes fixed on the spires of the Academy rising over the skyline, looking contemplative and calm. Her presence in his head didn't even waver, nor did her grip on his hand.

She noticed his stare and raised a brow. "What?"

He shook his head roughly, confused. "Nothing." His issues were getting seriously out of hand. If he didn't get a grip pretty soon he'd be on sobbing on some bad daytime talk show and sweating estrogen.

"Oh, no," she sputtered suddenly, stopping in her tracks and going dead white. "We have a test today!"

Soul clapped his free hand to his forehead. It was always Maka who reminded him to study. "Fuckin' dammit!" was all he had time to say before she was using their linked hands to practically drag him up along, more than halfway running. He just trailed along behind, trying to keep up as she fussed and wailed and yanked his arm half out of the socket.

"Death, Death, Death, I didn't study at all, what is wrong with me, I do the homework but I can't remember the test, I'm going to faiiiillll," she moaned distractedly. She sounded on the verge of another breakdown or something as she tugged him along.

"What the hell good is all this rushing gonna do?" he said grumpily as she forced him up the Academy's massive staircase.

"Maybe I can fit in some studying before first period!" she snapped back, pulling on him harder. "The test is in our afternoon class, so I can study at lunch too, but I'll need all the time I can get!" It was irritating as all get out, but she was red and upset, so he settled for simply rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath.

"Woman, you're gonna kill me," he told her breathlessly when they finally crashed to a stop at her locker. She was barely winded, and it pricked his manly pride a little. Maybe he should start working out with Black Star more.

"Don't care!" she said back, and he jumped.

"Say what now?"

She shot him a quick, frenetic glance, and in his mind she was a discordant barrage of chaotic, clashing sounds. "Soul, what are you talking about? I didn't answer you because you're being a big baby!" With that she was off like a tornado to the library, a blonde whirl of backpack and books, and he was left in her wake, disturbed and prodding at his malfunctioning ears.

"What's your dealio, little man?" Suddenly Black Star materialized beside him in the busy hallway, slinging an arm over his shoulders and ruffling his hair.

"Gah, get off me," Soul snapped at him, pushing him away, though he completed their ritual high five as a matter of course.

"Don't get your panties all in a twist," the ninja grinned at him. "Why you looking so down? Seems to me you oughta be feeling pretty relaxed right about now." He waggled his eyebrows lecherously.

"What are you going on about?"

Tsubaki stepped in. "We saw you and Maka holding hands this morning," she said, with a faint pink flush, twining her hands together nervously. "We weren't spying, we were just practicing on the roof."

"S'okay, I know you weren't creeping, Tsubaki, dunno about him though." Soul jerked his thumb at Black Star, who was now looming over an obviously terrified freshman, waxing poetic about what a great god he was and how lucky the boy was to meet him.

She smiled, and for once didn't bother to go intervene in her meister's lunacies. "So?"

"So what?" This was getting uncomfortable. Tsubaki's face was composed and lovely as ever, but she had a manic gleam in her eye.

"So what happened? Are you two together?" she said intently, still managing to keep her voice soft even as she cornered him up against the drinking fountain. He blinked at her.

"Uhh..." This was awkward. Were they together? They were something, yeah, but knowing Maka, she'd want to turn this new thing over and over in her brain for a good week at least before announcing anything. He grimaced, tucking a thumb under his headband as he cast about for a way to appease Tsubaki. "Nah. It's just hand holding, nothing new," he finally settled on. Whatever was going on, he'd let it move at Maka's pace, even if it killed him. He remembered her hot little tongue in his mouth and the velvet of her thighs under his hands and suddenly, death didn't seem too far out of the picture.

She subsided, though her expression was both suspicious and disappointed. "Oh. All right. How is she doing?" Her large eyes grew sad. "She still hasn't really talked to me, or come to hang out, or anything."

"Oh, man," Soul muttered. Girl talk was so not his thing. "She's still messed up. She's mostly stopped crying, though. I don't know, she's just really stressed out, why do you think we've been gone so much?" There wasn't much else he could say. He didn't have the words or the experience to describe what Maka was going through.

"She wants to spread some mayhem," said Black Star knowingly, popping up at Tsubaki's shoulder, speech apparently done. His tone was flippant but his brows were drawn; it was odd to see him taking anything outside of battle even remotely seriously.

"Yeah, seemed to do her some good, I guess."

"That where she got the bum ankle and the whack on her noggin? Your last mission?" Soul raised a brow at his friend's spot-on guess. The guy acted like an absolute idiot most of the time, but he never missed a thing.

"Oh- yeah. Guess we didn't ever tell you guys about that. Some asshole kishin egg followed us back to the hotel room, surprised her." Tsubaki's hands floated up to cover her mouth, and he hasted to reassure her. "It's fine, I got it." He frowned, the familiar worry for his meister washing over him again. "It was weird, though. Man, she's been so fuckin' moody lately for a while I thought she got knocked on the head a lot harder than it looked. She's losin' it, I swear, she's all over the place, totally whack, it's PMS times a thousand." He was aware he was rambling but it took a moment to stop, the stress running away with his tongue. Hopefully Tsubaki could talk to her, because he was worried, still, all the time. Maka flashed into his head; writhing on the hallway floor only two days ago with no breath in her lungs, shrieking like a banshee at him in the infirmary, jumping back from his kiss with something not far from stark terror in her eyes. No, she might not be crying today, but she wasn't anywhere near fixed.

He looked up to ask the tall girl to take Maka out or something, but his friend's eyes were both fixed on something over his shoulder, and Black Star was inching backwards with a grimace. "Oh crap," Soul groaned, knowing who was behind him even before he turned around. He did anyway, though, only to be confronted with Maka's burning gaze. It was like looking into the sun. "Hey, Maka, don't freak out, I was just-"

She stopped him there with a skillful blow, the hardcover of her massive textbook crashing into his skull like a sledgehammer. It sent him reeling as his eyes watered; she hadn't pulled her strength at all. How on earth had he missed her coming up behind him? Oh, right, the damn demon tool around his neck had snuck in and diluted their bond again while they were both distracted. He swore to himself that he would melt the thing as soon as he got a chance.

"Maka, I'm sorry, that came out wrong!" he said, a bit dizzily, clutching his ringing head.

She thundered at him, fists clenched at her sides, and the hurt drowned out the green in her eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm so sure! You're a- you're a jerk! You're a backstabbing jerk, Soul Eater Evans!" She brought the book down one more time for good measure, and he didn't bother to try to dodge, because she had much better reflexes then him, but mostly because her face was wrinkled with a look that made him feel entirely deserving of the blow.

"Maka, I'm sorry!" he shouted after her as she stormed away, trench coat flying. Kid wandered up, eyeing him with a curl of his elegant lip.

"Soul, you're lying disheveled on the ground like a homeless person, it's undignified," the shinigami observed, sending Patti into gales of laughter. Soul glared up at him, scrabbling desperately at the resonance, trying to send Maka his strongest apology. She was pulling away so strongly that it was all he could do to hold on, though.

"I'm seriously not in the mood, Kid!"

Kid sniffed at him, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I was simply stating the truth. When should I come by to repair your apartment?"

Soul had his twanging head in his hands, half ignoring the other boy, trying not to suffocate in the regret and panic welling in his stomach. The thought of losing Maka already was too much to bear; all he wanted was to hear those sweet chimes again. "Dunno, whenever. Maka needs a new door too."

Kid shifted a little uneasily, squinting around. "She, ah, she's not here, is she?" Liz patted his arm; apparently it had taken quite a bit of work to get him back in functioning order after Maka's asymmetrical assault.

Nah, she ain't coming around me anytime soon," Soul told him, pushing at the link again. Maka sent back only a furious sobbing darkness and he suddenly felt very much like throwing up.

"Why's that? What did you do, Soulie?" Patti asked him, squatting down to peer at him from beneath her cowboy hat.

"She heard me talking to Tsubaki and Black Star about how she's gone off the reservation," he replied, feeling like an utter and absolute heel, a feeling that was only heightened when he saw the scowl on Patti's face. He looked around, but the aforementioned ninja and his partner had apparently made their escape while he was being assaulted.

"Ouch," Liz murmured, and judging by Kid's expression, he felt the same.

"I didn't mean it like that! I get it, it's normal for her to be acting weird, I'm just- I'm really worried about her, I dunno." He scooted away from Patti, who was cracking her knuckles at him menacingly. "Stop looking at me like that."

"You were mean to Maka! I love Maka!" she said, cocking her head and looking suddenly highly unstable.

"I know! Okay, I'm very fucking aware of that, Patti, you don't have to rub it in." She didn't relent, and finally he sighed. "I'll make it right, okay? You think you guys could take her out tonight or something? She needs friend time, bad."

Patti immediately stood up and saluted, clicking her heels. "Aye aye, mon capitan!" she giggled.

"Riiight." He stood up, vision doubling for a second. Maka had really hit him hard. "Thanks." The bell rang and he jumped. "Ah, I gotta go, guys."

To his dismay, Maka was boxed in between Kirik and Ox when he got into the classroom. She didn't look at him, though she did finger her book rather ominously, and after that class she disappeared into the hallway crowds before he could catch her. He tried to hunt her down all day, but despite all his yanking and pleading through the resonance she kept it so low he couldn't find her, and she was mysteriously absent from all her usual hiding spots- the library, the fourth-floor balcony, the training grounds, all were empty.

He was just turning the corner to search for her at the track during lunch rang when the entire gang scurried by, nearly stomping him into the dust. "Whoa, hey, what's the rush?" he called after them, totally confused.

"Dummy! Remember, we have to start the test early, cuz it's so long! Marie said a regular period wouldn't be long enough, so we should come in, like, an hour early!" Black Star bellowed back, already disappearing into the distance ahead of everyone else.

"Come on! Hurry up, Soul!" Liz called, one hand clapped to her hat to hold it on as she ran. "We almost forgot too!"

With a quick curse for his lost lunch period he followed them, stealing a pencil from the ever-helpful Tsubaki as they crashed into their after-lunch classroom. There were already quite a few students sitting there, and Marie was beginning to pass out the tests.

"Oh, good, I'm so glad you all made it on time! This is our midterm test, so it's rather long, but good luck!" she trilled, seemingly quite unaware of how much her tits were jiggling as she bounced around like a cheerleader. The size of the packet of questions she plunked down in front of Soul made him seriously consider jumping out the window, but then again, Maka was already pissed enough at him. If he jumped out the window, she'd be even madder about his failing grade, and then triply furious she didn't have a live body to abuse in retaliation. So not worth it, even if she was cute when she was mad. Really, really cute, especially when she stomped her feet. Her eyes got unbelievably green, too.

He snapped out of his maybe-possibly masochistic daydreams about how she bared her teeth when she screamed at him to realize with dread that Maka wasn't in the classroom.

"Tsubaki," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, nearly cracking his pencil in half with his grip. "Where's Maka?"

She started at his voice, then looked around on the sly when Marie strolled to the other side of the room. "I don't know! Oh, no, oh no..." She sent him a frantic look and he returned a shrug. It would do no good to leave the test early to look for his meister and get disqualified, and anyway, as long as she showed up pretty soon she'd likely be able to finish on time; she was a very fast test-taker, one of her many nerd superpowers.

The minutes ticked by, though, and she still hadn't arrived. He found himself watching the clock more than his test. She still wouldn't respond to even his most violent efforts with the resonance, keeping herself tucked away behind a wall of solid hurt and rage. Eventually he realized he'd gnawed his poor abused pencil down to just a nubbin and looked in dismay at the shards strewn over his desk. His monster teeth claimed another innocent victim; at least he still had the tip to write with.

When the door finally cracked open, he looked up so fast his head spun, and thank Death, there was Maka. She looked around in confusion at the filled seats and quietly concentrating students and he nearly groaned aloud as comprehension dawned on her face. Marie scurried over to her, and he strained to hear, but he couldn't. All he could do was watch his meister's bloodless face as she spoke to her teacher, watch it go from confusion to horror to nail-biting dismay. She took the thick test from Marie with hands that rattled the pages, and he saw her face drop even more.

Then Marie said something to her and she burst into tears, shoved the test at the teacher, and darted out the door. Suddenly the little demon was dancing, the deafening click-clack of his shoes on the black-and-red tiles echoing like gunshots around Soul's skull.

* * *

She felt like she was dying, or maybe more accurately, she was hoping and praying for it. Marie's disapproving words were like lye poured into her ears: "Maka, I actually mentioned it several times in class, it was even on the syllabus. Everyone else knew that the midterm began early."

She was such a disappointment. Everyone told her how proud her father was of her, how well she was handling things, but how could he be proud of someone as stupid as her? How had she not heard Marie talking about the early test time? How? And what was wrong with her, that she'd just dissolved into tears at a simple admonition that she had, in fact, entirely deserved? She'd dragged herself to classes against all the sinful sloth that wanted to stay under the covers forever, but obviously that had been a futile effort.

Soul was hauling on their link again and she pushed him away desperately, watching the pavement of Death City move beneath her feet as she walked, and walked, and walked, trying futilely to slow her hitching breath. She couldn't slow down her thoughts either, and she was beginning to feel distinctly off balance, lost in both the twisting city streets and her own sickened thoughts.

It was a long time later, judging by the sun, though it hadn't felt like that long, when the swoosh of Kid's skateboard alerted her to his approach. She turned to face him, scrubbing desperately at her face. He hovered up beside her and stepped down gracefully, golden eyes looking oddly relieved to see her. She looked away after just a moment, unable to meet them.

"Maka, what's going on? Everyone's looking for you," he told her, patting her a bit stiffly on the shoulder.

"W-what do you mean? Why?" she sniffled.

"We thought you were in trouble of some kind. Soul said your soul resonance disappeared." Suddenly his relieved face made more sense. After a moment of befuddlement, she hunted around for Soul and realized that Kid was right; her weapon was nowhere to be found. She plopped down to the ground, half sitting and half falling, feeling so wrong-footed without his constant touch inside her that it seemed impossible she hadn't noticed its absence before now.

"I don't- you're right, it's gone, I don't understand," she said agitatedly.

Kid came through, cool and composed as always, even though he was obviously uncomfortable trying to soothe a teary hysterical female. "Well, try to reestablish the resonance. I highly doubt this is anything permanent." She latched onto his calmness like a lifeline, drank it in and tried to become it, and began reaching out for Soul, throwing her perceptions out as far as she could, shutting her eyes as she did so. She reached out like a drowning victim, begging and pleading for him to come back, to sing her the lullaby that was his essence and put all her wayward static emotions to rest, and after long terrible minutes she felt the link bloom again. Soul sent her a tangled mess of anger and relief and something else, something firey and caressing that made her cheeks burn noticeably. She sent back calmness and apology, and it seemed to work, because he settled a little, though he was still holding on with an iron grip that she could feel pulsing in her temples.

She opened her eyes and gave a whistling gasp. Kid looked highly concerned, though not enough to sit beside her and risky dirtying his suit in the street. He arched a dark brow at her and she nodded, breath still heavy. "Yeah," was all she could get out, but he obviously understood, giving a satisfied sigh.

"Well done, Maka." He paused for a moment, leaning one slim hip against his hovering skateboard and apparently debating his next words carefully. She ignored him, because her eyes were burning and, unbelievably, still shedding tears. She was irrationally afraid that she would dry up and blow away, an empty desiccated husk, but even her fear couldn't stem the tears. "May I ask why you would disconnect from your partner?"

She did her best to glare at him through her watery eyes. "Why do you assume I did it?" Then she remembered what Soul had said before, about how she'd been gone from his head in the Paris hotel room, and dropped deep into ugly disgrace. She'd dismissed him so easily, thought he'd simply been panicking over nothing, but what if something was really wrong with them? So many strange things had been going on with them, and she'd just refused to acknowledge his concern. She was the meister- she was supposed to be in charge, taking care of them both, but she'd been too wrapped up in her own problems.

Kid pursed his lips. "No offense intended, Maka, but it seems more likely for you to do such a thing than Soul." She clenched her fists and he took a step back. "Don't take out your temper on me, we've all been scouring the city because we thought you were in trouble," he snapped, pulling angrily on his skull-shaped brooch. "It's obvious to all of us that you would be the one to do this, not Soul. You have been pushing us all away since your father's passing."

"Don't you talk about my father!" she said loudly, feeling her temper rising.

"I am trying to help you, you stubborn girl!" he yelled back, and she discovered that when a shinigami yelled it was quite intimidating. When the cloud of dust his voice had raised settled, he was back to his calm suave self, if a bit dirtier than usual. "Pardon me," he murmured.

"Can you take me home?" she said quietly. "I need to try and figure out what I'll have to do to pass Marie's class now I've failed the midterm..." The words were bitter on her tongue.

"Yes, of couse," he said amicably, though he didn't move. "I'd feel more comfortable being in close proximity to you if you would unclench your fists." She blinked and held her hand up in front of her face; it was indeed balled into a fist.

"Oops. Yeah, sorry."

"I shall warn you now, I intend to lecture you a bit while I have you in the air," Kid said matter-of-factly, and she started.

"Uh- uh- what?"

"Just what I said." He regarded her levelly from under his striped bangs, and she felt lower than a dog when she thought about how she'd tortured him, when really his sudden redecorating had just been an attempt to cheer her up.

"Okay, I guess," she grumbled at him, clambering aboard his skateboard, which lowered itself obligingly to help, and sitting on the back edge with her legs crossed, tucking her skirt down under her legs carefully. He sat in front of her, long legs dangling in front of them, and the enchanted board rose and moved off smoothly, giving a faint hum. She peered over the edge and was a bit disappointed to find the wheels weren't turning, though she couldn't have said why it bothered her.

When Kid spoke, his voice was very low, though still audible even though she was facing the back of his head. "I never knew my mother," he began, and she rubbed her knuckles in her eyes as the tell-tale ache of incipient crying reappeared. "My father has no pictures of her, and he has never told me her name. I've tried to find my birth certificate, of course, but no hospital within three thousand miles of here has any record of my name in their files. I'm still hunting, but knowing how thorough my father is, I'll probably never know who she was."

Maka was intrigued, despite herself. How exactly did the genetics of a god work? "Have you asked Lord Death?" she ventured as the roofs of the city fell away below them.

"Indeed. He dodges the questions, and refuses outright to answer if pressed. I have no idea why, and to be honest, it's wreaked rather a lot of havoc on my mental health, as I'm sure you've noticed." He said it with no shame, just raw honesty and trust that made her shut her eyes again. "She's always on my mind, and that's no exaggeration. It plagues me constantly."

He lapsed into silence, and she stared at his slender back, touched and wanting nothing more than to protect him. Of course that was ridiculous, a god didn't need coddling, but it didn't stop the maternal urges his confession prompted. "I'm so sorry, Kid."

"What did you feel just now?" he asked, and she frowned, rubbing her swollen eyes again with the hand that wasn't holding down her skirt.

"Uh-"

"Truthfully, now, you won't offend me and I'll know if you dissemble."

She gulped. "Uh, I felt bad for you. Like it was unfair, and I wanted to help you so you didn't have to hurt anymore."

Kid turned his head just enough to fix her with one swirling gilded eye. "That's how we all feel for you, Maka. It's not pity, and it's not seeing you as weak. It's part of the bond of friendship. Do you understand, perhaps, now?"

She was speechless, but he seemed to read something in her face that satisfied him, because he just gave her one last golden glance and a small grin before facing forward again, black hair whipping in the wind.

* * *

**Author says: **Sorry this took so long, I've got finals coming up.

I've been dropping lots of hints about what's coming- foreshadowing for the win! I'd love to hear your guesses. ;)

The test thing Maka deals with happened to me- I went to classes two days after my dad died, and I kept going for the rest of the term, every day, but I was so distracted the whole time that I somehow missed my chem teacher saying the final would begin an hour earlier than our regular start time. Walked in late, was reprimanded and I just totally lost it in front of a 150+ size class and literally ran out. One of the top humiliating moments of my life. Just figured I'd mention that in case it sounded unrealistic or odd.

Anyway, enough babbling. Thank you for reading/reviewing/following, and I hopehopehope you enjoyed! :)


	6. Chapter 6

The very moment she stepped foot in the apartment, Soul had his arms around her, and she couldn't muster the energy or gumption to fight him off. Actually, he was very warm, which was nice, and anyway judging by the strength of his embrace and the ringing of him in her head, he needed this more than she did. That's what she told herself, anyway, pretending she wasn't melting into him in wild relief.

"She's just fine," Kid said reassuringly from behind her. He stepped in past them and over Soul's shoulder she could see him clutching his face as he saw their attempts to fix his 'renovations'. "This was beautifully symmetric!" he scolded. "What have you two done to my masterpiece?"

"Shut up, Kid, get out," Soul said roughly somewhere next to her ear, and the shinigami raised his brows resignedly, shaking his head as he took one last look around.

"All right, I'll let myself out."

"Thank you!" Maka squeaked at him, just before the door shut, as Soul began to crush the breath from her lungs with his unrelenting grip. "You're like an anaconda," she told him in a strained whisper.

"This is your punishment for making me believe you were dead," he snapped, and she shivered as she felt his lips brush her neck.

"I'm sorry! I freaked out in Marie's class, I didn't even realize what happened until Kid found me, I didn't know." All she ever did these days was apologize. Her thoughts went round and round, her own failures at being a friend and a meister and a daughter chasing each other until she felt nauseous.

He pulled back just enough to flick her harshly in the nose. She yelped, but before she could counterattack she was back in his arms. He was really very quick when he was mad. "You didn't even notice? Seriously? Fuck, Maka, I was about to lose my mind," he grunted. The guilt began to spin faster.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't know." He went very still against her and she had to bite her lip to fight off the desire to pet his messy hair into some kind of order. It looked like he'd been electrocuted. He must have been pulling at it again.

"You didn't notice I was gone?"

She cringed. "No."

It appeared he was considering that very carefully, because it took him a while to reply. The demon tool around his neck was freezing, even through both their shirts, so cold that she wondered how he could stand it. "Did you really say that or am I hearing shit again?"

Maka frowned into his shoulder, confused by the knife edge in his voice. "I said it, I didn't want to lie to you, but it's not because- I mean, I missed you like crazy when I figured it out, it was scary!" She huffed out a breath as she remembered what he'd said at the hotel. "Oh, Death, and I'm so sorry I didn't believe you that it happened in Paris too. It just sounded so nuts."

"I think I am going nuts," he muttered.

"Black blood?" she asked him, conscience twinging.

He shrugged a bit, bringing a hand up to twirl her pigtail. "Uhh- yeah. Mostly. Yeah, that's it. It's actually been pretty quiet today, but yeah." She opened up the resonance a little and his whole body relaxed, drooping over hers like an overheated flower. "Cool, that's better."

"Sure. Maybe it was the demon tool that did it?" She tried to experimentally wriggle away, but he squished her to him more tightly, and she was highly aware of every single inch of him she was in contact with.

"Dunno. Maybe. It was really hard to get you back earlier."

"Yeah, it was, that thing's gonna be a problem in battle if it takes us that long to up the resonance." He just made a muffled noise at that somewhere in the vicinity of her temple, and she took it as long as she could, but finally she felt like she was going to fly apart into a million pieces and had to beg him to let her breathe. He did so, if not a little grumpily, and she took a deep delicious breath into her abused lungs.

"We should go talk to Stein again," he told her. He'd released her from his chokehold but as if to compensate, he was standing so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look up and meet his eyes. Stupid boy and his stupid tallness. If she had his height it would be such a huge advantage in battle. She had to put a hand on his chest and push him back a good foot before she could stop feeling so puny. It was a fact that she could physically take him out, so why did she feel so bared and vulnerable before him?

"I guess. We told him already, though, right? I mean, I didn't believe you, but you still told him. He knows about our resonance breaking up like this."

He was glowering at her from under knotted pale brows. "This isn't even a little okay! Fuck, Maka, how are you not more worried about this?" She squinted at him,working on ignoring how sandpapery her eyes felt from the leftover tears she'd managed to dry up in the wind of Kid's skateboard. He started to pace, sticking a thumb in his headband distractedly. She sighed and prepared for a classic shouting match, because he was showing all the signs of having reached his limit, but then he stopped halfway through a step and turned to her. "Did you do it on purpose? Like, are you just sick of me or something?"

"Excuse me?" she gritted out, feeling her pulse begin to throb in her temples. "No! No and no! I didn't do it on purpose, I've never once done that since we became partners! I wouldn't!"

"Well then what the fuck is going on!" he asked loudly, jaws snapping together like a bear trap as he bit back the urge to actually yell. Right then he looked scary, like something you'd hide under the covers from as a little child. She felt like the world was tilting as he glared at her. Framed against the black walls of their apartment, pointed teeth fully bared in a grimace and eyes wide, he reminded her all too much of the little demon.

With surprise, she realized she wasn't yelling at him. "I don't know, Soul, I'm not- maybe I did do it by accident. I don't even remember walking around, to be honest. Maybe I did it without realizing. My head's not exactly working perfectly right now," she told him, though she looked at his shoes as she said it, wanting that particular confession of weakness to somehow be forgotten as soon as it was free.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. It's just- shit, Maka, you can't keep doing this stuff. You can't run off like that. You can't do that to me." His tone said he wanted her to look at him, but she couldn't, not with the blackness of the apartment making his face look so dead and white.

"You don't own me." It was only a half-hearted bratty attempt to start an argument, and he must have sensed it, because he didn't even bother to respond.

"Say it again," he said, instead of something rude.

"You don't own me?"

"No, nerd. Say what you said yesterday." He put a hand under her chin and pulled it up, and she was both fascinated by his sudden control of her body, so adult and so very male in a way that was indefinable but undeniable, and put off again at the way he loomed over her with his extra inches. She linked her hands behind her back so they couldn't trace the bow of his smiling lips like they wanted.

"You say it first!"

He arched an eyebrow, looking very rakish, especially with his disheveled hair. "Nope."

"I said it first yesterday!"

"Too bad. Say it."

"Soul, I swear, you're such a stubborn-" He drowned her words with a kiss and her book-seeking hand fell limply to her side. He was somehow, magically, both soft and hard against her lips, and the bond was humming like a taut bowstring. She felt the point of a tooth run teasingly over her lip and immediately it was as if she'd swallowed a hot coal.

"Say it again," he ordered. Maybe he did own her. The coal glowed more brightly.

"Love you," she said, making sure to put extra sulk into her voice, but he just grinned down at her like it was the funniest thing in the world, and she had to force herself to breathe against the tremors his closeness inspired in her body.

"I love you too, Maka Albarn, and you really have zero right to talk about stubborn."

She had to look away from his amused red eyes as he said her name like a prayer, but he didn't seem to care. Who else in the world understood her so well? No one came to mind.

"If you're going to admit I'm a girl and get all mushy at me, then I'm allowed to be a hypocrite," she sniffed, holding back a smile at the look of horror that dawned on his face. "It's the domain of all females. I get to be all the worst girly annoying things now. Maybe I'll paint my nails and make you do everything for me while they dry! And spend hours in the bathroom every morning getting ready!"

"You wouldn't, Maka, come on," he winced, face turning sour when she burst out laughing. "Ah, fuck, you're evil."

"I know," she snickered, enjoying his dismay. "Seriously, though, don't test me."

"Let's get out of here," he said abruptly. "Let's go somewhere."

"Like, a mission?" she asked in confusion.

"Nah, fuck that, we just got back. I mean let's get out of here. This ugly apartment. I hate this black so freakin' much." He squinted around at the walls as if they'd personally offended him. She shivered. He was doing the mind-reading thing again.

"Where are we gonna go?"

He wrinkled his nose for a moment, thinking. "Sid's holding a hand-to-hand combat seminar in the main training hall in half an hour. I bet smashing some faces will made a certain someone feel better."

"Do I have anger problems?" she asked idly, already heading to her room to change into her workout gear. Getting some training in sounded like heaven. She remembered going on jogs with her mama as a young girl, listening to Kami cheer her on; it was bittersweet now. Kami hadn't even tried to call her back after Soul's tirade yesterday, and it cast a pall over Maka's favorite memories, even if she didn't want to admit it.

Bitterly flavored memories or not, Kami had taught Maka that physical activity was the best release for stress, and today had surely been stressful. For a infinitesimal moment a tiny, smothered part of her piped up that Soul could be used for some other, much more interesting physical activity than sparring, but she promptly ignored it, though she felt her traitorous body tingle in response. Alcoholism had a genetic component, she knew; maybe she should look up whether or not being a lustful horndog was hereditary too.

"Definitely," he called to her. "It's okay, though, it's kinda hot." She was highly glad she was safe in her bedroom when he said that, because judging by how hot her face now felt she was probably flaming red. Under the stress she felt unaccountably happy, like her chest was full of helium, and even recalling her shameful scene after being late to that massive test didn't dim her down. Well, not much, anyway. Beating some ass at the school would go a long way to reminding people that her reputation was well deserved. Besides, she didn't think she'd ever forget her weapon's voice as he told her he loved her, not for the rest of her life.

She tugged on her workout clothes as quickly as she could, trying to ignore the fact that her sports bra smashed her boobs down even smaller than usual, and trotted out to the living room to find Soul already changed and waiting. "Are those my basketball shorts?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"They shrunk!" she said defensively. He rolled his eyes, grabbing his keys and trying to conceal his pleased expression.

"Whatever, thief. Let's get going."

Sid already had several people lined up at the training hall's punching bags when Maka and Soul made it in, and he only spared them a glance, jerking a thumb at the other students, who were all warming up and stretching, a few of them slipping on boxing gloves. Maka joined the crowd, though she didn't make eye contact, concentrating on touching her toes.

"You're really flexible, you know that?" Soul muttered to her, sounding a bit strained as he tried to emulate her. She giggled and considered several different answers to that, wondering if she could shock him, when she was unceremoniously snatched up and flung across the room.

She tumbled end over end before digging her heels in and skidding to a rather clumsy stop. Black Star met her eyes with a challenging grin. "Ha ha! Hey bookworm! Gotcha!" he bellowed, flaring his nostrils as he flexed his arms over his head.

"You jerk, I didn't even see you!" she said in frustration and embarassment. The whole gym was looking at them now, and she caught Jacqueline and Kim whispering something behind their hands from the corner of her eye; probably mocking how easily she'd been taken off guard; would the humiliation at this cursed school ever end? Kim was her comrade and sometimes friend, but the witch had a notoriously mean mouth sometimes, at odds with her friendly pink hair. Maka's elbow was burning from sliding on the mats, and she knew without even looking that it was probably thoroughly skinned from the friction. Black Star was still laughing uproariously.

"You shouldn't feel bad, even if you had seen me coming I still would have been too fast for you!" he guffawed. Snarling, Maka looked around him, hoping she could get some help from Tsubaki, but the tall girl was nowhere to be seen. Oh well. She eyed the ninja's big stupid face as he cackled and decided that he deserved all the varied, inventive and painful hell she was going to rain down on him, especially considering his cheating method of challenging her. In the very back of her mind, hidden and sly, something tickled, something tempting and seeking, an offering, a well of fuel for her anger to set aflame.

"I'm paying attention now, you ugly little blue monkey," she spat, setting her feet and putting her weight back in readiness. The tickle grew more frenzied. He quieted abruptly at her words, then cracked his knuckles.

"Little, huh? You couldn't be more wrong about me!" With that last boast, he blurred towards her. Only long familiarity with his intense inhuman speed allowed her to duck his fist, and it was sheer luck that let her kick connect with his thigh, but it was satisfying nonetheless. He didn't favor his leg as they regained their footing, but she knew that she'd landed a good solid blow. She heard Soul whooping something distantly, but whether it was encouragement or advice, she couldn't tell, because as always during a fight, her mind was going a mile a minute. Black Star's left foot slipped forward a centimeter, and she spun to the side, bending under his blow with only a hair to spare. He immediately followed with a cross-body hit to her side, though, and it sent her stumbling, choking down a cry of pain. The insectile twitch in the back of her awareness gave a great surge as her temper flared.

He was looking at her oddly. That blue hair was annoying. It was harsh, too much for her eyes. "What? Too slow, little man?" she taunted, even though a far-off part of her knew she was playing with fire doing so. For a moment, even though she'd seen his blood many times before, she had the vivid thought that it would be blue too, liquid sky pouring from his veins.

He darted in with a snap kick like chained lightning to her hip and a right hook to her gut that sent her to her back, rolling across the floor with nothing but embers in her lungs. She was up before he could reach her by some miraculous feat of instinct and, since he was unprepared for her to be moving so quickly, she pushed his head down and smashed her knee up into his face with glee. The blood that dripped from his nose was so very satisfying, even if it wasn't blue, that she smiled at it. Maybe red was okay. This was a very pretty shade of red, after all. She could fingerpaint with it and make a present for her mama. The tingle in her brain liked that idea.

She realized Black Star was sending blow after blow at her face, obviously wanting to put her down decisively with a single heavy hit, but he was moving so slowly! This wasn't sparring anymore to him, it was war now. It was funny, really, watching his slow-motion anger as she leaned away from his fists each time they flew, backing away lightly. He looked like he was made of rubber. Would he bounce? She tilted back and powered a foot into his diaphragm, and he did bounce, thought it was only once. At least he made an interesting series of noises.

"Aw," she said, watching the tiny pretty droplets of his blood rain on the mats. "One time? No, more." She spun and kicked him again, ignoring the punch he landed to her cheekbone and the ringing it brought to her ears. He bounced twice this time and she clapped her hands. That was the trick! She had to put more weight behind it! Oh, this was really fun.

Someone was yelling at her. It was uncomfortable, staticky, and she turned to swat it, but the blue monkey came up behind her and then she was on the ground. He said something, but she ignored it, headbutting him as hard as she could and jumping away.

His blood was so pretty. It was on her hands. No, that wasn't his blood. His was that glorious rosy red color. She looked harder at the wet smear on her palm. What was this inky darkness? Was it her blood?

Then, in an instant, she discovered it was Soul yelling at her. "Maka! Maka, stop it, stop!" She turned to him in surprise. Sid was holding him back, saying something about a duel being a duel.

"What?" she tried to ask, coming back to herself with a jarring snap, fearing the blackness in her hand and the rage in her heart, but then Black Star sent her into the wall. Her head hit it hard, with a bright blossom of white-hot pain. Was this what her father had felt when he died? Had he had time to be afraid, to wonder what this new pain was, to look into his own death and tremble, to cry and plead for mercy? She didn't know how long an aneurysm took to kill. She hadn't had the courage to research it. Spirit's scared agonized face was all she could picture, as he grasped his head and screamed like a child, and she screamed for him and for all that she couldn't do to protect him, to comfort the man who'd taught her to ride a bike and brave night terrors and write her name. Her heart was breaking all over again, just when she'd gotten the first stitch into it, and her throat tightened with the awfulness of her own thoughts.

She wiped her palm across her forehead and saw, with relief, that it showed simply glossy redness this time. Black Star was across the room, standing with the tense stillness of a predator, waiting for her to get her bearings with that strange chivalry he sometimes showed in a fight. He liked to win with his opponent at their best. Soul was quiet now in both her head and her ears, though she didn't want to look at him, so she decided this was as ready as she'd ever be and charged.

She'd have to take the ninja by surprise, because she wasn't faster than him, and she wasn't stronger. She knew she was smarter, though. She put a little stutter in her steps as she ran, knowing that he would have already noticed her sprained ankle- he never missed things like that- and she emphasized it just a little, as if it was hurting her far more than it actually was, as if it were a liability, slowing her. The predator across from her saw weakness and pounced, true to form, and she sprang aside at the last possible second. The sudden turn of uninjured speed surprised him, she saw it on his face, just before she put his head into the floor with all her weight behind it. The crunch of his jaw against her elbow as she body-slammed him down was beautifully obscene. She licked her lips before she knew it.

He grunted and wobbled almost up for a moment, but then he flopped back down and didn't move. She nudged him with her foot, only now aware of just how heavily she was panting, and then stepped back, mopping sweat from her forehead and looking to Sid to declare the winner. She glanced at Black Star's prone form as she moved away, hardly able to believe she'd managed to put a monster like him down. That had been vicious, far beyond ordinary school training matches, and she more than half expected to get disciplined for being involved in such a brawl, barefisted with no safety gear or anything. Why had Black Star provoked her, anyway? She touched a hand to her cheekbone, biting her tongue as it pounded painfully.

The zombie didn't say anything, just regarded her stonily with those unreadable white-washed eyes. "Maka Albarn, victor," he finally said, though he didn't sound very congratulatory. Soul sent a sharp icepick into the resonance and she turned to him with a wince. He was incandescent with fury, and before she could do or say anything, he strode over to her and actually fisted his hand in the collar of her shirt to hold her still.

"You ever do that again and I will leave you in the dust so fast your head will spin," he whispered in her ear. Her wounded heart gave a great burning leap into her throat.

"What? What are you talking about? I won fair and square!" she protested, fear clutching her with dark fingers. He dropped her shirt like it was poison, but then grabbed it again, hauling her outside. After the darkness of the training hall, the late afternoon sunlight burned her eyes.

"You just used the black blood without fuckin' asking so you could show up Black Star," he told her tightly, once they were alone, putting his back firmly towards her and lacing his hands together behind his neck. Every muscle of him was etched with fury.

"I did?" she breathed. She looked at her hand, and sure enough, that black smudge was still there under the red. "Oh, Soul, I- I didn't-" What could she even say anymore? She felt like a passenger in her own body, because all the time now, things were happening that she didn't know about.

She looked at Soul, feeling a trickle of warmth sliding down her split forehead. She couldn't ever remember seeing him look so miserable about anything, and certainly never so angry at her, not even in the midst of their worst arguments. Timidly she reached for him along the link, and he was as upset as she'd ever felt him. This was all her fault, and there was no way around it, no escape and no excuses. She turned and walked away, her tears mixing with the blood on her face.

It worked. He either didn't realize she was gone at first, or didn't want to come after her. She took the motorcycle home, glad that he'd been stupid enough to leave the keys in the saddlebag, and she packed as fast as she could at the apartment, throwing clothes and books and laptop into her suitcase with abandon. He'd be pissed once he realized she'd taken the bike, and she had to make sure she was gone before he got here from the school, because she knew he'd never let her go, no matter how much she was hurting him. She might not even be able to force herself to go if he was near her. She was weak, after all.

It was the dim end of evening as she ran through the streets, but apparently people could still see the blood on her face, because she received a number of concerned looks from passerby. It didn't matter, though. Her dad's house looked very lonely as she entered it, and she tried to flick on the lights before she realized she'd canceled the power service. She didn't need them, though. Spirit kept plenty of candles in the house to set a 'romantic mood' for his flavor of the week. At least all the furniture was still there. She'd cleaned out the fridge, but everything else was exactly as he'd left it, a museum or a shrine, she wasn't sure, but it couldn't stay this way for long. In a few more months the bank would take the property, since no one could take over his mortage, and her last link to him would be gone. She lit several of the candles, not enough to chase away the shadows in the corners of the room, but enough that she could see what she was doing. With the doors safely locked and the blinds all drawn so no moonlight could touch her, she went in the living room and curled up on the exact spot her father's body had lain before they came to take him away and burn all his joy and love to ashes, bawling and bleeding all over his favorite carpet.

* * *

He was only partially through his rant when he figured out she wasn't behind him anymore. He spun around in a full rotation, looking, but she was nowhere to be seen and no where to be felt. He ripped off the demon tool and put out feelers for her, but she was hiding herself again behind a wall, though not actually fully disconnected like she'd been earlier, thankfully. She'd done it again, left him without leaving a trace, and when he saw only empty space where his bike should be his stomach knotted. She would never take it without asking, not unless something was very, very wrong.

He ducked back into the training hall, grimacing in sympathy as he saw Sid setting Black Star's nose with his thumbs. Black Star took it like a champ, though, as usual, turning to him with a gory grin and a thumb's up. "Hey man! Dude, what got into Maka, she's like a wolverine or something!" he laughed, but he sobered as he got a better look at his friend's face. "What's up, bro? I'm not mad at her, she had to give it her all or she never woulda had a chance against me!"

"You idiot, she ran off again," Soul hissed. Black Star raised a reddened, bruising brow.

"Huh? Like this morning? She in your brain still?"

"Yeah, but I can't find her!" Soul yanked on his hair in a futile attempt to calm his nerves. "She took my bike."

"She took your ride? Ouch. Not cool, not cool."

"Yeah, well, I thought she might have come back in here." He took another survey of the room, hoping against hope to see her slim upright shape among the staring students. "What are you all looking at?" he barked. Shit, they were like vultures. Then he whirled on Black Star. "And you! What the hell did you wanna fight her for?"

"I thought it might help her let off some steam, yanno, after the test thing? Like make her feel better if I let her hit me a coupla times? I didn't think she'd get so damn pissed," he answered, prodding his split forehead with a curious finger, eyes rolling back as he attempted to see the injury.

"It was a poor choice," Sid said disapprovingly as he stuck a box of band-aids into his adopted son's hands. "I would never have antagonized a friend who was hurting when I was alive; that's not the kind of man I was."

"I thought it would help her feel better, man," Black Star protested, beginning, miraculously, to look a little uncomfortable.

"I'm just saying," Sid told him gruffly, rolling his tattooed shoulders with a sigh as he turned back to the others. "What are you all waiting for? Does this look like a picnic? Get back to work!" They scattered.

"Whatever, I gotta go find her," Soul said, but Black Star caught his shoulder as he turned to leave. "What?"

"I'm coming with you, dude. After a fight that fun she's earned the great Black Star's help!"

"Haven't you helped enough?" Soul was almost beginning to understand exactly how Maka could have gotten angry enough with Black Star to draw on the black blood, even if he didn't like it. "She sees you, she's just gonna get more mad and try to decapitate you with her foot again. She's probably back at the apartment, anyway."

Black Star considered that, holding him totally still with one hand without any apparent effort. "'Kay, but text Tsu when you find her, all right?"

"Okay, whatever, let me go!" He tore away and ran out the door.

She wasn't in the apartment, though his bike was. She wasn't with Tsubaki, she wasn't at Kid's, or the school, or anywhere else he called. He drove around the city until midnight, checking the coffee houses, the public library, the parks, anywhere and everywhere he could possibly think of, no matter how far fetched. Each time he flung open the door to a new place, only to turn away alone, he felt a little more of himself unravel. The past few days had been such a hellish rollercoaster that he couldn't even believe it. It was like living in a dream, a bad dream, a walking nightmare in which his wildest hopes were offered to him and then snatched away the next second.

Finally he gave up and went home, leaving the door unlocked for her. He sat on the couch all night, feeling the black walls enroaching on him as the lonely night crept by.

He lasted until six in the morning. The sun peeked just over the horizon and washed the living room in bloodstained light. "Red sky at morning," he said out loud as foreboding gripped him, blinking hard, trying to make it go away. He grabbed his phone and tried her cell again. The voice mail was all he got, and he whispered his terrors to it as he paced in the redness of the sunrise. "Maka. Maka, I love you. Please come home. We'll be okay, I promise. You'll be okay. Black Star's fine. Just come home, please."

He was groveling. He didn't care. He tried to reach her five more times, though he didn't leave her any more messages, and then he stumbled into the bathroom and sat under the hottest shower spray he could bear for a while. It straightened him up a bit, and he tried hard to force some of the steel that came to Maka so easily into his backbone. With a shaky finger he dialed Lord Death in the foggy mirror.

With a faint, shining ripple, the shinigami appeared, wearing his puff-ball tipped sleeping cap still. "Soul? Heya, whaaaat's up?" he asked animatedly, apparently not at all perturbed at being woken so rudely at the crack of dawn by a deranged and desperate student.

Soul didn't waste any time. "Can you find Maka for me? She disappeared yesterday, and I can't find her anywhere."

"Kiddo told me he'd found her?"

"That was different. I mean, yeah, we found her but then she took off again last night. Ask Sid about it. I looked all over, I can't find her and she won't let me look for her through our resonance."

Lord Death hummed thoughfully, tapping an oversized white finger against the bottom of his mask. "Hmm. I have to admit I've been worried about her. She's not doing well, is she, Soul?"

"Obviously not," he said snappishly, not at all caring at the moment that he was being exceedingly rude to his present and probably future boss.

"Well, Soul, how 'bout I call you back, hey? I think I just may know where our missing girl is. Hang tight, I'll be back in a jiffy!" He disappeared unceremoniously, though the mirror remained in its enchanted state. Soul could still see his own reflection in it, though it was much less clearly than normal, like looking into a dark window. He almost didn't recognize himself. He looked ragged and exhausted, bags under his eyes and hair sticking up madly in all directions. For a moment, despite his much different coloring, he almost looked like his dad, for the first time he could recall.

It took so long for Death to reappear that Soul was swaying on his feet with tiredness, leaning down to prop his forehead on the cool sink countertop. When he heard the god rapping his massive knuckles on the mirror, he popped back upright immediately, rubbing a hand in his eyes absently. "Find her?" he pleaded.

The shinigami's night cap was gone, and he didn't move at all for a long, long moment. It was strange to see him so still. "Yes, I did, and she's safe, but I think you should call a friend to come over, perhaps that hyperactive ninja, he's your friend, no?"

"What are you talking about? Where is she? Last thing she needs is the see that jackass Black Star right now." He was so, so tired. It felt like he was spiraling down into Lord Death's black eye sockets. Where was the reaper's normal, jovial, joking tone?

"Maka has formally requested a transfer to serve as a short-term working student for the East Asia division under Death Scythe Azusa. She's en route right now. I had no choice but to approve her request, Soul, she had all the appropriate qualifications and there was no legitimate reason to turn her down, not when an internship is something that provides such an educational advantage."

This couldn't be real. He was melting further into the nightmare. "The fact that her dad dropped dead not a month ago wasn't reason enough to tell her no? Her mental health wasn't a good enough reason? Besides, we're still in classes! What about that? There's no way I'll believe she just took off in the middle of the term, no way!" The protests were hollow even to his own ears, but he mouthed them anyway, needing something to hold onto.

"Soul, please try not to be too angry with me, I really did think it for the best-"

"Well it wasn't!" he roared, grabbing the bathroom mirror with both hands and shaking it. "She's not okay! Are you stupid or do you just like to pretend? How could you let her do this?" Lord Death let him rave for a while, simply watching him from those bottomless pits with all the patience of a being hundreds of years old. Eventually he cut in, so gently that it took a moment for Soul to stop his runaway shouts.

"Maka knows she's not okay, Soul, as is to be expected after losing a parent. This is her attempt to heal without inflicting any more pain on those she loves." He leaned in close to the mirror as if to underscore his last word, and Soul knew it was meant for him. Of course the stupid god knew everything. Bastard, evil, careless bastard to let Maka go out alone and broken without her weapon by her side.

"I don't care what she told you. She can't handle this alone, it's her biggest fear, something bad is gonna happen!"

"Soul, this was her own choice, and I can't say I was happy to split up such a long-time partnership. even temporarily, but she gave me a message for you, if you'd like to hear it, that is?"

"Of course I want to hear it!" Soul managed to cut off the curses he was about to add regarding the shinigami's questionable parentage, though only just.

"She wanted me to tell you that she'll be back at the end of this term, just a little over two months, and that you're free to partner with another if you want, but that she very much hopes you won't. She said she was sorry."

"That's it?" Soul said in utter shock. He fished around for her soul, but she was ghostly and faint, and growing steadily more so now that he was paying acute attention. "Can she even do that?"

"Can and did. I apologize, Soul, but I will be keeping a very close eye on her, don't worry. I don't like this any more than you do, but it's my hopes it will all be for the best in the end." Lord Death was twirling a shadowy shred of his cape a bit uncomfortably, and when he spoke next, his cartoony voice was back as strongly as ever. "Now how about you go have some fun and try and relax, huh, Soul? Now that's my professional advice, all right, don't worry your little head about Maka, she'll do all right! Gotta go, later alligator!" With a silver glint he disappeared, and Soul was left staring at only his own disbelieving red eyes.

"Professional? Professional what?" he asked himself. His reflection appeared to have more important things to worry about, like who the fuck had ripped the entire world out from under his feet.

He sat down on the bathroom floor with a thump, reaching out blindly for his meister again. She wasn't there. Judging by how fast she'd dissolved away in his head, she had to be on a plane. How had she gotten a booking so fast? Everything had happened so quickly. It must have been Lord Death pulling strings. "Bastard," he said to no one. Blair was still gone to parts unknown, and now Maka was gone too, and the apartment that had always felt far too cramped suddenly yawned around him like a black hole. He pulled the demon tool off, snapping the chain and not caring that it ripped the skin on his neck, and threw it down. It skidded into the darkness under the sink with an innocuous jangle, and he flipped it off before burying his face in his knees.

* * *

**Author says: **Sorry it's a bit short, and sorry it's such a cliffhanger, but it felt right to end the chapter here.  
Don't hate Maka too much, please! Remember she's going through hell, and she's naturally very hard on herself anyway. It's why we love her.

Thank you _so much_, everyone who has reviewed, favorited, etcetera! I love hearing all the guesses about what's coming next!

Hope you enjoyed! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Tsubaki found herself singing as she brushed her hair, even though it was a Monday and their hot water heater had just died again. She couldn't help it, though, it was just so lovely outside! The morning had dawned bright and very clear, and the sweet little tree outside her bathroom window was just beginning to paint a colorful hint of autumn onto its leaves.

"Hey, you're sure happy," came Black Star's amused voice, and she turned to see him leaning in the doorway, grinning at her. She smiled back.

"It's so pretty out. Look at the tree." She pointed, and he shuffled around her in the tiny bathroom to look out the window.

"Yeah, it's cool, I guess." He sat down on the closed toilet lid and stared ferociously at her cell phone lying on the countertop, just as he'd been watching it all weekend long. She hadn't asked why, assuming that if it was important, he would tell her, just like eventually he would explain why he'd come home Friday night with a tender swollen nose, split-open forehead and various colorful bruises for her to patch up. "You oughta sing more, I like it."

She dropped her hairbrush with a squeak, feeling hot color rising in her cheeks- how she hated the fact that she was such an easy blusher! Black Star never seemed to tire of making her turn an unbecoming shade of scarlet. He picked it up and handed it to her with a smirk.

"Thank you," she said softly as she wrestled her long hair up into a ponytail. How she wanted to cut it, at least a few inches to make it easier to manage, but Black Star had once told her how much he liked it, and somehow, she just couldn't cut it off after that. He gave her phone one last intense stare before standing up and stretching, giving a cavernous yawn.

"Come onnnn, Tsubaki, we're gonna be late and I have really super important stuff to do!" He was actually eager to go to school? What an unusual occurrence. He wasn't just eager, she saw, he was actually bouncing on his toes.

"I'm sorry, I'm ready now!" She scurried out of their house as quickly as she could. Black Star was unusually quiet on the walk to the Academy, though he darted all over the streets like always, zigzagging back and forth whenever something interesting caught his eye. Tsubaki idly tried to picture what his reaction would be if she put him on a leash, like a hyperactive puppy in training, and giggled to herself. Too bad she couldn't. It would make life so much easier.

When they were almost there he dropped back to walk beside her, hands linked behind his shaggy blue head. "Is there something you want to talk about?" she asked hopefully. Maybe the phone mystery would be solved.

"I did something kinda dumb," he admitted, scowling at himself, and she knew immediately by his tone and his confession of being anything less than completely perfect that he was about to say something important. He was getting better owning up to his own faults nowadays when he messed up, but he still hated doing it and avoided it as much as possible. She was viciously tempted to dig around their link and try to ferret out what exactly was going on in his head, but that went against their unspoken code of respect. Black Star had never tried to sneak peeks at her thoughts, beyond the very basics that came with the meister-weapon link, and of course the heightened awareness they had during battle- but beyond those times, he was scrupulously careful, and she couldn't dishonor that, even though sometimes it was unbearably tempting. "I told Maka I wanted to duel her on Friday and I think she used that black blood stuff."

Tsubaki felt her steps falter. She stared at the purpling bruise on his jawbone, lifting a finger to it delicately. "Did she do this to you?"

He snorted. "Well, I had to let her win, didn't I? She's all sad and shit."

"Black Star..."

"Ugh, fine, yeah, she did." He kicked at the ground in irritation. "She got me pretty good, actually, for a skinny chick she's got muscle, but what I was trying to tell you is that after she left Soul came running up all wigged out. She took his bike, I guess. I told him to get ahold of you once he found her."

"But he never did," she finished for him, one hand going to her phone, tucked inside her book bag. "Oh, no, that doesn't sound good." She missed Maka so much. She hadn't even realized how much she relied on the petite blonde until they'd almost stopped talking, but she did, for homework help and girl time and simple friendship like she'd never had before. Was she okay? That black blood of Medusa's was bad news, Tsubaki knew, and every time they used it in a battle both Maka and Soul came out of it looking absolutely exhausted- but Maka had somehow used it all by herself on Black Star? She didn't realize she was clutching her ponytail like a lifeline until her meister gently tugged it out of her hands.

"Don't look so worried! For all we know they've just been 'making up' all weekend, eh? Soul's my homeboy after all, I taught him all he knows!" She blushed again automatically at his lewd connotation and he smirked in victory. "Seriously, just tell her it's all cool if you see her today, all right?"

She nodded to him meekly, trying to rearrange her face into a less upset expression, but as soon as they were up the Academy steps- he'd challenged her to a race up them, of course- she was scanning every face she saw, trying to find Maka.

"Did you see her?" she finally asked Black Star later as they left their first class, nudging into the packed halls. He grabbed her books for her before answering.

"Nope. Nada. Didn't see Soul either. Weird, right?"

"Yeah," she answered, feeling her heart constrict with worry, trying to stop it, because he would feel it.

"Fuck, could these assholes move any slower?" He squinted at her between his gripes. "Hey, Tsu, why you lookin' so glum? They're probably just skipping."

"It's just-" she shook her head. "I try to understand, I really really have, I know she just lost her father, and I don't want to make things any harder for her, but-"

"But it's totally not cool that Maka stopped coming over to chill with you," he said shrewdly, and she turned to him in relief that he understood. She often felt that he had a hidden well of wisdom far greater than her own, even if she had two years on him. Whatever was going on, he knew how to fix it for her, whether it was a busted pipe under their sink spurting water everywhere, a battle wound that needed doctoring, or simple hurt feelings. Admittedly, his answer to the first two of those things was generally superglue and excessive profanity, but considering that it almost always worked, she didn't mind.

"Yes. It hurts." She sighed, searching the halls all over again, even though she knew by now that neither of her friends were here.

Making a face, Black Star grabbed her book bag at that, throwing it over his shoulder and apparently not caring at all that it was a very feminine shade of peach. Whenever she got sad he would try to take over whatever she was doing or holding at the moment, and she knew it was his way of comforting her, though he'd never admit it. If asked, he'd say that he was just carrying her books to build up his arm muscles, of course. Not that he needed to build them up anymore. She lost herself in eyeing the taut, tanned swell of his biceps for a bit, and miraculously, it seemed to cheer her up a little, even through her uneasiness over Maka. That was one reason she enjoyed their silent policy of respecting the resonance; he couldn't tell when she was admiring him or just why exactly she was so distracted when they trained and he took his shirt off. It did have its benefits, even if it was different from everyone else's links, as far as she could tell. But it worked for them, two people so very different.

"Why don't we go check on them after school?" she suggested. He considered it as he unceremoniously elbowed several people out of his way.

"Eh. Kinda boring over there."

"We can stop by the grocery store on the way home, I'll get the ingredients to make you sushi," she wheedled, deciding appealing to his endless stomach was probably the quickest route to success. He perked up immediately, performing a flamboyant cartwheel of enthusiasm and somehow managing to keep ahold of both her books and her bag while doing so.

"All right! Yahoo! It's a deal!" She hurried after him, apologizing to the innocent bystanders who'd had to dive out of his way to avoid serious injury.

After school, they went and knocked on Maka and Soul's apartment door. They'd passed his yellow motorcycle parked outside the building, so they knew at least Soul was probably home. No one answered, though, and they looked at each other in confusion. Black Star took over, hammering on the door and shouting something nonsensical about proper methods of worship, while Tsubaki attempted to placate the irritated old woman across the hall who immediately poked her head out to investigate the clamor.

Finally, she caught the snick of a lock being undone, and she and Black Star dived inside just in time to avoid the wrathful and surprisingly swift swings of the old lady's cane. "Whew! Good timing, Soul!" she said, looking up at him, but her words died in her throat.

The scythe looked like the walking dead. She couldn't ever recall seeing him like this. He was in nothing but a pair of ratty sweatpants, his white hair was matted and sticking out in every direction, and he was so sickly pale that the dark rings under his bloodshot eyes stood out like tattoos. If she'd passed him as a stranger on the street she would have assumed he was homeless or seriously ill; he looked haggard.

"What," he said finally. It came out as a froglike croak, and he had to clear his throat and try again before she could understand him. He didn't look at her as he spoke. His eyes were rolling feverishly, all around the room, and he put his back to the wall as though fearing an ambush after re-locking the door.

"Uh- we were just wondering where you and Maka were today," she answered. He rubbed the scar on his chest absently, giving her a dark scowl, one sharp tooth slipping from behind his lips and giving him a suddenly beastly aura.

"She's not here."

"Then where is she, huh? No way Nerdzilla skipped school," Black Star said loudly, refusing to be ignored. He finally let the hand he'd been holding up for their customary high-five drop.

Soul turned his thunderous scowl from Tsubaki to the ninja. "Why the fuck do you care, dipshit? Looks like she left you a souvenir, at least. How's the nose?"

"Don't be a dick, dude," Black Star snapped, bristling at his sarcastic tone. "I was gonna say sorry."

Soul snorted bitterly. "Yeah, I'm sure." He rubbed his scar again, then ran a hand through his wild white hair, creating even more havoc. He looked like a young and quite possibly insane Einstein. Black Star's eyes narrowed at this unceremonious rejection of something as rare as one of his apologies, and Tsubaki decided she'd better step in before he said something out of hand.

"I'm sorry if we came at a bad time," she began cautiously. "Black Star told me that something happened with Maka after Sid's training session, and I got worried when she wasn't at school."

Soul stared at her blankly for a moment, as if he had no idea what she was talking about, then rubbed his knuckles into his eyes roughly. "She's not here," was all he said, voice still scratchy, as if he'd either been screaming or sobbing. For a moment his hands lifted as if he were going to cover his ears. She was beginning to have a very bad feeling, and Black Star had to reach over and take her anxious hands off her ponytail again.

"Man, you already said that," the ninja said in frustration as Soul just looked at him tiredly. "So where is she?"

Soul rolled his eyes and started laughing wildly, leaning on the black wall as he clutched his sides. "Oh, she's off in Asia somewhere!" he wheezed, doubling over and apparently completely unable to stem the mad howls coming from him.

"Asia?" Tsubaki said in dismay. "Soul, what's wrong with you? I don't understand!"

"Me either!" he choked, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor as tears of mirth ran down his face. "Me either! Every morning the sky's red and everyone's gone but I can still hear them!"

This was terrifying. Tsubaki was beginning to get very concerned, and it was obvious something awfully wrong was going on with Soul. She crouched down to pat him gingerly on the arm; he didn't seem to notice, still laughing and laughing, monstrous inhuman sounds like those of a being straight from hell.

"Soul, you're scaring Tsubaki," Black Star finally said, peering at his friend sternly.

Soul gave a final gasping snort, putting a hand over his face and blinking at them rapidly from between his fingers. "Sorry, sorry, I wasn't lying though! I don't know where she is."

"I don't understand," Tsubaki said firmly, determined to get to the bottom of this, as he looked at her like a wild beast in a snare. "Explain, please. How can you not know where Maka is?"

Soul took several deep breaths and, thankfully, took his hand off his face, looking just slightly more sane. "I couldn't find her anywhere. Lord Death said she's doing an internship thingy with Azusa. She just left, she ran away, didn't say goodbye or anything."

Tsubaki went over and sat down on the couch, feeling kind of foggy, because the Maka she knew, even the changed Maka of the past three weeks, would never just run away without a single word of farewell. She would never have left her weapon in the state he was in, either. "Is she coming back?" As she spoke she crossed her fingers.

"Yeah. Uh, like, two months or so. Till next term of classes," Soul answered, a bit distractedly, looking at the walls with his head cocked suspiciously. "Does this place look smaller to you guys?"

Black Star crossed his arms, tapping one big boot impatiently, and Tsubaki breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the look in his green eyes. It was the look he got whenever something needed fixing, conquering, or killing, the look that said he was about to take care of business. "You need to get the fuck out of this house. She just needed some time alone, it ain't no big deal, so how about you go put your big girl panties on and man up a little?"

"Man up by putting on my big girl panties?" Soul said dryly, looking more like his usual sarcastic self.

"You heard me. Go on, I guess we can wait for you a little while, but don't fucking take too long, I'm a busy man."

Soul shook his head as if he were resetting something inside his skull; she was reminded oddly of Stein. "Right," he muttered, pushing himself up and disappearing into the hallway. A moment later Tsubaki heard the hiss of a shower.

"Good work cheering him up," she told her meister. He rolled his eyes dramatically and shrugged.

"I don't give a shit if Soul is cheerful or not, it's just pathetic watching him mope around after Maka. My followers should know better! Seriously, dude's totally pussy whipped."

Tsubaki laughed a little even as she turned red, because it was kind of true, and everyone except Maka seemed to know it. Soul practically worshiped the ground his meister walked on- it had been so exciting when she and Black Star had spotted them holding hands! "Mm," she said neutrally. Looking around as they waited, it was kind of amazing how much work Kid had done to the place when Soul and Maka had been in France- they'd only been gone, what, three days? But he'd painted everything, knocked out a wall, of all things, and rearranged nearly all the furniture. "I don't like the new paint," she mused, pulling her legs up beside her on the couch.

"Eh. It's kind of badass," Black Star said judiciously.

"Shall we paint our place black?" she teased. When he appeared to be actually considering it, however, she backpedaled immediately, and when Soul came out they were so deep in their heated discussion of correct interior decorating that neither of them noticed him for a good minute.

"Paint? Really? Could you two be any more married?" he asked with a raised brow, ignoring Black Star's outraged sputter and her own tomato-red face. He looked much better, damp white hair semi-tamed by a headband and wearing his usual casual clothes. "What are we doing, anyway?" Tsubaki looked at him again, more carefully as Black Star wound up his lecture on respecting a god, and felt her stomach knot up. Soul was dressed normally, standing normally, and talking normally, but he kept sneaking glances at the walls, and she could see that his jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked painful, the muscles jumping in his cheek.

"Why don't you come over for dinner?" she cut in deftly when Black Star paused to take a breath. "I'm making sushi, I know how much you like it."

His stomach gave a resonant rumble in response. "Yeah, that sounds pretty dank, actually." The idea of food appeared to be a bit of a revelation to him, and she had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't been eating regularly. Instantly she vowed to make the most delicious sushi ever and stuff him until he couldn't move, and then bring out dessert.

Even if Soul wasn't quite himself, she was grateful to have him when they stopped at the little grocery a few blocks away from their house. He somehow managed to rein in the force of nature that was a hungry Black Star, and they escaped the shop with only one broken pickle jar left behind as evidence. As they reached the door to their home, Tsubaki dug for her house keys in her bag, but they'd vaporized in the mess of pens, chapstick, hair ties, emergency meister snacks, throwing stars, and other assorted junk that rattled around at the bottom under her schoolbooks.

"Darn," she murmured. "Can one of you guys hold this, please?" She turned to pass them the bag of groceries so she could properly delve into her black hole of a purse, only to freeze as she saw Soul. He was staring up into the sky, eyes so wide she could see white all around them, shaking like a leaf. Black Star followed her gaze and promptly punched Soul in the arm.

"Ow! What the fuck?" Soul snapped. A raven cawed harshly, and he jumped, though at least now he tried to hide the flicker of his eyes back to the sky.

"Quit spacin' off," Black Star replied just as snappishly.

"Whatever." Soul took the groceries from Tsubaki and she finally fished out her wayward keys, letting them in. The boys went parked themselves in front of the television and started playing some awful video game that seemed to be all about aliens shooting each other. It also seemed to require constant, inventive profanity. For once, Tsubaki was grateful her apartment was so tiny; the close quarters allowed her to keep an unobstrusive eye on Soul while she boiled the sushi-meshi and sliced the salmon. Her divided attention meant she paid the high price of some wasabi in her eye, but it was worth it to see that despite his strangeness earlier, he seemed absolutely normal. Well, a little bit on edge and even more sharp-tongued than normal, perhaps, but that was excusable, considering Maka.

Tsubaki puffed a stray piece of hair out of her face, thinking. Maka- where exactly was she? With Azusa, Soul had reported- but that could be anywhere, really, the East Asia division had many headquarters due to the large number of countries it encompassed, rather than being concentrated in one central location, as Death City was. China, Japan, South Korea, Mongolia- they were all the domain of that steely-eyed woman, Death Scythe Azusa, who, according to the letters from Tsubaki's family, presided over her division with a well-known iron fist. It was a huge part of the world, and Tsubaki was surprised to feel hot tears pricking the corners of her eyes when she pictured tiny Maka, so scared and so alone right now, in the middle of nowhere.

She almost dropped a plate when something else hit her. Wasn't Maka's mother supposed to be in Japan somewhere? Had she gone to meet up with her? Black Star slithered into the kitchen to try and steal some scraps at that moment, so she ran her theory by him in quiet tones. Soul had a headset on and was shouting so furiously at the television as he mashed buttons that she highly doubted he could hear anything, though.

"Iunno. Gimme some of that!" Black Star said in response to her idea.

"No! It's not done." She smacked his hand lightly. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? She probably feels very lonely right now, and she may not talk to her mother often, but they're still family." After she said it, she realized she was hoping she was wrong, because it was hurtful to imagine that Maka felt the need to run halfway across the world to find the support of family. She herself thought of Maka as a sister, as blood; was it only in her own mind that such a thing was true?

Black Star desisted from his attempts at thievery for a moment as he noticed her downcast face. "Honestly, I don't know why she likes her mom so much, the lady dumped her off with Spirit and hasn't even visited as long as I've known her." He put a warm hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Maka's a big girl, she'll come back all in one piece, ornery as ever. Tsubaki, when is this gonna be done, I'm dying! Do you really want to be responsible for the death of the mightiest fighter the world's ever seen?"

She laughed, feeling better already. "Just a few more minutes. I'll bring it out, you won't die, I promise. I need you around to fix the water heater, remember?" He grinned in victory and wandered back into the living room to shoot more things with Soul, and she noticed with a little spark of pleasure that her meister had taken his shoes off at the door. It had taken so long for her to be able to feel comfortable wearing her shoes in the houses of her friends; wearing them in her own home was still beyond her capabilities, even after years in America. She just couldn't do it, and even though Black Star had told her often and loudly what a dumb tradition it was, she'd noticed him remembering more and more as of late. She put an extra piece of sushi on his plate as a reward.

"Guys, it's ready," she called over the sound of gunshots and electronic carnage. Soul had his hands on his plate so fast he practically blurred.

"Ummmmmm, fish," he drooled appreciatively. "Thanks, Tsubaki. What kind is this one again?"

"Nigiri," she supplied, smiling proudly as they snarfed down her work with lavish praise.

"It's so good," he said fervently through a full mouth. "Maka never makes fish-" He stopped himself, brows drawing together angrily, and she sighed. Apparently her plan to raise his spirits through food had backfired. Everything just circled right back around to Maka.

* * *

From his spot on the ancient, sagging couch, Soul stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep for the third night in a row. Black Star had finally called it a night at around four in the morning after they completed a truly righteous video game winning streak, stumbling off to his and Tsubaki's room with nothing but a burp. How did those two deal with that whole single bedroom situation, anyway, if they weren't an item? Up until about a week ago Maka would have left him bleeding and twitching on the floor rather than share a room with him. He'd let her bleed him dry right now if it meant she'd touch him to do it.

Maka. Every thought in his head had her name or her face or her taste in it. When and how had he become so entwined with her, so connected that he couldn't function if she weren't around? In his own mind he was independent, a strong person, he'd even been foolish enough to believe he was the one who carried her, and now look at him, a hollow hopeless disaster after two days alone.

The company and the distraction of his friends had kept him level since they came to see him, but now, alone and with nothing to occupy his thoughts, he could feel the black blood pulsing in his veins, tugging and twisting at his mind. If he were to dip into the Black Room, he knew with a terrible certainty the little ogre would be dancing. He knew Black Star was right; he hadn't fought the madness, he'd wallowed in it actually, and they'd showed up just in the nick of time to pull him out of it. He'd been so close to completely losing himself that it was scary. Could he do this on his own for two months, without Maka's anti-madness wavelength? He balled his hands into fists and put them over his eyes. Yes, he could, because he was going to wait for her, she would be back eventually and everything would be fine.

Maybe he was the one being an asshole. He pushed his fists into his eyes harder, then took them away and blinked, trying to follow the bright spots spinning in front of him from the pressure. She'd just lost her dad, been cut adrift from her only source of love and family, only three weeks ago, and yet he'd been thinking only about how bad he wanted to get his dick wet, pressuring and tugging at her anyway. That was probably why they'd been having so many issues with their resonance; he'd pushed her too hard and too fast and she'd tried to be there for him, to be what he wanted even through her own pain. He really was an asshole, no two ways about it. How could he and everyone else be complaining about how she was acting and think it was okay, when she'd just lost her father?

Selfish, they were all selfish, that's why. Or maybe Maka was just so skilled at hiding everything going on inside her that no one had noticed how truly distraught she was. He realized in a far-off kind of way that he was grinding his teeth and made himself quit, though it took some effort. Getting away from the suffocation of the black walls had been a massive relief, at least. At one point he'd have sworn on a stack of bibles they were melting around him.

He wanted her back so bad it hurt and at the same time he almost hated himself for the irrational ferocity of the wish, when clearly she could be without him easily enough. What could he do without her, really? What was he? His only talents weren't anything he'd earned, they were gifts of his genetics and his family's money. His weapon form had been with him since birth and his piano playing had been ordained since the same day. Maka had been the one to make him shine; he only glowed because her own fire reflected off him. Logically he knew two months wasn't very long, but nonetheless time stretched out before him endlessly, a dark and winding path, and his light had gone far away.

* * *

"Black Star? Are you awake?" Tsubaki whispered into the blackness of their room. He'd woken her up when he'd come in a little while ago, apparently done murdering aliens with Soul, and she'd groggily decided it was probably wiser not to look at the clock and see exactly how much of her precious sleep had been stolen.

He sighed. "Yup. Worrying about that douche out there?"

"Yeah. Maka, too. I just can't stop." She asked for him through their resonance, needing comfort, and he took the heightened connection like a true gentleman, giving off his usual rock-solid reassurance. "I didn't really sleep."

She heard blankets rustle a little. They'd finally procured a second bed a few years ago, so they no longer had to alternate nights, one on the bed and one on the army cot they'd used originally, and somehow the two beds had migrated closer and closer over time until now they were so close that if she'd wanted to, she could have reached out her arm and touched him. However it had happened, and she hadn't really dared examine it too closely, it was nice to have him so near at night, especially when she got homesick.

"That black blood's getting the better of him without Maka's anti-madness wavelength around," he said, in the voice he only let her hear, devoid of catchphrases or boasts, just the simple essence of him. She loved this smooth thoughtful voice so much that she ached to hear it sometimes.

"Yes. How much damage do you think it can do it two months?"

He made an unreadable noise, and to her utter surprise, she felt him reach back for her through their bond, just the slightest brush of him, but still, there it was. "They haven't been apart for more than a few days in years. I don't think he'll make it, honestly, Tsu. It's a witch's magic in him, that's damn strong stuff. You saw what it put Chrona through. I'm gonna give him a chance, but we need to be ready to move if something happens."

Tsubaki shut her eyes as tightly as she could, not wanting to picture funny, confident, loyal, secretly gentle Soul lost into madness. "At least he won't be as dangerous alone as he would be if Maka were here," she said, in what was mostly an attempt to convince herself that awful, dark things weren't lurking on the horizon. Suddenly a warm, calloused hand touched her own and unwound it carefully from its death grip on her hair.

"Lay off, you'll get split ends. It'll be all good in the end. Promise. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Okay." She touched him again in her head, lightly, trying to convey how lucky she was to have him as her meister, and he gave back an amused, exceedingly conceited little ripple of acknowledgement before falling heavily asleep.

* * *

**Author Says:** So this is different, I know. I wanted to show Soul's deterioration from an outside point of view. I hope this isn't too much of a disappointment, considering this story is billed as a Soul/Maka pairing, but for some reason it worked out this way- apologies if you hate it. Black Star was really difficult to write. Don't worry, we'll be back in Soul and Maka's heads next chapter.

Thank you again to all my readers for reviewing/following! It truly is a great encouragement. Again, I know this was a weird chapter- sorry!


	8. Chapter 8

The streets of Xi'an were never quiet, even now, far into evening. Even in ancient times strangers had never been strange here, coming in through the Silk Road from all corners of the earth or slinking in to hide from the scourges of war, but right now the two young people walking through the downtown market were still managing to turn heads, and not merely because of their Shibusen uniforms. The girl was small and pale, skin glowing like moonstone in all the neon, the hair that fell long and loose around her shoulders glinting dark liquid gold. She walked at a steady pace, but like someone very old, setting her steps with deliberate careful exhaustion that made the grandmothers watching nod in sympathy. She wore the uniform like it was a second skin, but despite the professional air it gave her, it couldn't hide the fading bruise around one eye or the scabby split on her forehead. The boy was more familiar, a local, if taller than average, dark-haired and eyed, strolling next to her and pointing out things as they passed them. His arm brushed hers once, and she flinched away, walking faster. For a moment, falling behind them, her shadow distorted from the influence of the varied lights flickering about the street.

It seemed they were looking for something or someone, behind the shield of sight-seeing, and it didn't go unnoticed. In this part of town there were many people who didn't want to be found, for whatever reason, and they slunk away when her green gaze brushed them. The two worked their way through the crowds, talking softly in English. Then she put out a hand, swiftly, not touching him but preparing for something, entire body tensing as she lifted her head searchingly. The nearest onlookers moved away with equal quickness. They knew the battle stance of a fighter when they saw it, even here, and given all the strange deaths that had occurred lately, they could easily guess what was coming. With startling suddenness, the bustle and babble of the crowded street disappeared along with its inhabitants, and the only sounds left were the whistling wind and distant traffic.

"Delun," she said intently, eyes fixed on the shadows between two buildings. "There. It's there."

"Are you sure?" the boy said dubiously. He squinted into the darkness. His face was always moving, small constant motions, an eyebrow always twitching up or lips always caught between his teeth, and his body was the same, one foot tapping the ground as he stood. It could have been pent-up energy, nervousness, or simply readiness; it wasn't apparent which.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I can detect souls, remember?"

He shrugged affably, brushing dark bangs out of his eyes. "All right, then, if you say so." He paused for a moment, still trying to see through the blackness. Beside him, the strange somber girl shifted her weight, back and forth, eyes piercing through the places his couldn't. He noticed with vague unease that despite the searing neon they were standing under, her pupils were fully dilated, giving her a predatory look he would never have expected on someone so seemingly reserved. When they were assigned to each other at the Chinese division of the East Asia branch, Azusa had assured him that Maka was more than competent enough to keep them both safe, and she was two-star rated, after all, so he put aside his misgivings and transformed, the static that flashed through his bones so familiar he barely felt it. At least all the civilians had taken off, saving them the trouble of clearing the area.

She caught him easily, hands firm on the bronze chain that linked his two heavy, studded weights, and he was impressed despite himself. Most meisters took a long time to even begin to become competent with something as complex as a meteor hammer, but she'd done fairly well in their first practice session yesterday, at least enough so that he hadn't protested all that much when she'd accepted a mission for them the very next day, though it had been awfully sudden. Maka had been so eager to go- well, he thought so, at least. She was like a doll. He'd hardly seen any strong expression on her face or in her speech since they'd met. She'd been firm about it, though, despite the detachment.

She walked into the alley without the slightest hesitation, putting one weight into a quick spin, ready to dart out in any direction. The shadows enveloped them with open arms.

"I see you, kishin egg," she called out, voice perfectly controlled and pitched to carry over the whirring as she spun him. Something gave a low grumble and then shot out of the center of the blackness, an emaciated darting thing with too many extra appendages to look remotely human anymore.

It was so hideous that Delun was flabbergasted when it spoke, in his own native language. "Maka, Maka, Maka," it hissed brokenly, scuttling halfway up the wall to blink at them with milky dripping eyes. "Oh, I know you, I heard you coming from a long way, brother."

What was going on? He felt Maka's grip tighten. "I don't speak Chinese, ugly," she informed it, still in that eerily calm tone, before she sprang into action like a cobra striking, sending him rattling at the monster. She slipped a little from the effort of flinging something so heavy, but that was all, and again he was impressed, at least, until she tripped over his chain a second later, nearly nosediving into the dirt. Meteor hammers were a difficult weapon to handle, and honestly he was heartily surprised she hadn't smashed herself in the face yet. She had mentioned knowing someone who used a similar weapon, though, so maybe she'd picked up a few tricks from watching them.

She was stunningly quick as they fought, and inventive even though she was very obviously unpracticed, using one weight offensively and one defensively, countering many of the moves the mutated enemy made and dodging the ones she didn't, throwing him around with such force that they left a trail of craters in the dirt and walls behind them- though nothing hit the mark. Nothing came close. The thing was too fast, and she was too new to this partnership. Delun started to feel nervous- maybe they'd jumped into this too quickly. She was quick, but speed didn't mean much if she couldn't do any damage.

"Something's wrong," she panted. He looked out at her from inside his weapon form and felt a chill. With every move she made, her face grew more twisted, a rictus of fury like he'd rarely ever seen on anyone. It would have looked awful on anyone, but on her, someone so tightly reined in and controlled, it was even more disturbing. She looked feral.

What did she mean? Also, why couldn't she have worn pants? He kept accidentally getting utterly inappropriate looks up her skirt as she flipped around like a squirrel and bounced off walls. This thing had known her name, but had referred to her as 'brother', which was even more odd, because he didn't know how on earth anything that had ever been human could possibly mistake her for something other than a woman- had someone tipped it off to their hunt? But no, nobody at the Chinese headquarters would do such a thing. She'd only been here three days, anyway, hardly long enough to make any enemies. He took a more careful look at the movements of the kishin egg.

"It's not even trying to hurt you," he realized. It wasn't- it was scurrying all around, in and out, making every appearance of wanting to hurt her, but it wasn't actually making contact. She was tiring fast, and as much of a natural as she was she was still new to wielding a meteor hammer, and it showed in her reaction time and occasional clumsy slips. The thing had had multiple opportunities to land a blow, but it wasn't trying to with any real conviction.

"Yuuup, I'm aware, it's being such a fraidy-cat," she said, in a funny kind of singsong cadence, sweat beading her brow as her foot skidded again under the weight of him swinging around. She caught his chain around her elbow and used the momentum to wrap the incoming weight around her limb and then snapping back out towards the thing.

He was too heavy for her to handle long like this. "Resonate with me," he told her quickly as she backflipped out of the way of a sweeping claw. It would sync their souls, lighten the load of wielding him- at the moment their souls were just barely adjacent, just enough so that she could touch him without discomfort. She snarled, the first vocal expression of emotion he'd heard from her since she padded into Azusa's office, looking like a lost little jet-lagged kitten.

"No! I don't need to!"

Delun wished he was in his human form so he could pinch himself; he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Were all foreigners as eager for death as he was coming to believe this one was? Jumping into a mission practically the moment she got here, and now this. "What are you talking about? Come on!"

"I said no!" she roared, and something very dark rose up beneath the greenness of her eyes. Then, of all the insane things she could have done at that moment, she did the worst. She dropped him and ran at the thing by herself.

He was back in human form more quickly than he'd ever managed in his whole life, staring in horror at the mad American intern as she bashed a fist into the jaw of the creature with a stomach-turning crunch; he didn't know if it was from her bones or its. She moved like bottled lightning, fast on her feet as she peppered every inch of the thing with ferocious blows. It finally retaliated with a gurgling yowl, swiping into the flesh of her thigh, but she didn't even seem to feel it. She made no sound as she fought, besides the breath hissing from her clenched teeth, and all he could do was stand and stare in dawning fear at the blonde-haired valkyrie wreaking her unholy vengeance.

Then they were flying through the air in a flurry of angry limbs, and he gasped as they smashed into a glowing neon beer sign. It shorted out and began throwing sparks, a firey rain that lit them up as they rolled around beneath it. It was like a bad action movie, watching them go at it, especially since human versus nightmare didn't happen in the real world. She was stuck under the thing, barely holding off its claws, and- surely she wasn't _giggling_?

This wasn't good, not at all, and Delun felt entirely useless, though the feeling wasn't strong enough to make him go diving into unarmed combat with a nightmare. He'd be more of a hindrance to her than anything else, anyway. Not for the first time, he wished he could wield himself somehow. He had to do something. She was leaving a dark trail of blood behind her from her leg. Then his frantic gaze alighted on the perfect thing.

He darted under the sparks and snatched up a two-by-four protruding from a dumpster in the alley. "Maka! Here!" He sent it skidding along the ground towards her with a grunt, and she turned her head towards it awkwardly, fending off the kishin egg pinning her down with a grimace of effort and both her legs as she grabbed the wood. It connected with her enemy's skull satisfyingly, a solid meaty sound, and it reeled away from her, calling piteously for 'brother' in a voice that sent ice down Delun's spine.

Whether she understood it or not, and most probably she didn't, she ignored it and swung again and again until it was nothing but a bloody pulp on the ground. It dissolved like sand in the wind moments later and he watched her grin victoriously at the hovering reddish soul of the thing she'd just beaten to death. She went from merely cute to something supernatural with that wide white smile on her face, and the blood speckling her only added to the transformation. It looked like warpaint on her, something applied deliberately, with purpose, a warning and a celebration at the same time.

"Hey, thanks, hammerboy," she said cheerfully, a little too loud; if he didn't know better he'd have said she was drunk. He grew suddenly very angry at the tiny slip of a girl standing there, so casually, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if she hadn't just dived heedlessly into danger.

"What the hell do you think you were doing? Why wouldn't you resonate with me?"

Her whole body drooped suddenly, hands fisting convulsively at her sides. She didn't look at him, she just sat down with a sigh and pushed her blood-spattered bangs out of her face with the back of one hand. It gave him the odd sensation that she was struggling with something internally. "Sorry," she said finally. "It's a long story."

"Oh, okay, well, that sounds dramatic," he snapped sarcastically. This girl was obviously nuts. "You could have died!" He tried to look under her bangs, but her face was completely in the shadow as she looked down and prodded at the wound on her thigh.

"I'm sorry," she said again, voice back to being perfectly level, though he saw her hands trembling. Something darkened her words as she spoke next. "I didn't mean to, I just- I couldn't do it."

Insane. Totally insane, he was going to request a termination of their partnership tomorrow, and Azusa could just deal with it. He decided to tell Maka just what he thought about her mental state, and she actually chuckled at him when he did so.

"He's dead, anyway. One soul for you." She stood up and poked it; it floated over towards him gently. He took it with a sigh and swallowed it down, the molten heat of it trailing all the way down his chest to linger comfortably in his belly. It immediately made him sleepy. All he wanted was to get home and go to sleep in his nice, warm, safe bed.

"Whatever. Come on, this is going to be a ridiculous amount of paperwork." The formerly busy market was still empty, though he kept catching shutters and curtains moving out of the corner of his eye; people were still watching, as always. The citizens of Xi'an had long ago come to terms with the fact that there was a building chock full of weapons and technicians in their backyard, but they didn't always like it. He couldn't figure out why, considering that Shibusen did nothing worldwide except save people's lives, but there were many still faithful to the superstitions of an older time, and weapons in particular often received only suspicion in this city. At least his own family was supportive, though that was partially due to the big chunk of his paycheck he sent home every few weeks.

Maka nodded briskly and began limping off, then stopped and looked around, blinking owlishly. "Uh. Which way is headquarters?"

"This way." He took a closer look at her leg as they started off, wincing sympathetically. "Sorry, there's no taxi service in this part of town, but I can get one in a few-" Then he stopped as they passed under a streetlight that was actually still in working order, giving much clearer illumination than that of the neon signs and windows they'd been walking through before.. "Whoa. What's going on with- what is that?"

She frowned at him, then followed his pointing finger to her wounded leg. The blood seeping from it, coating her upper thigh with slick glossy wetness, was pitch black. She froze, eyes going very wide, and he saw that they were dilated again. "Oh shit," she was saying, and he found himself vaguely suprised. She really didn't seem like the type to curse. "Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh no. What about Soul?"

"I ate the soul, what are you talking about? What's wrong with you?" She started to shake violently, still staring at the tar-like blood trickling into her boot. Delun found himself backing away unconsciously. She looked at him wildly, plaintively, and he was torn between wanting to help her and running from her as fast as he could.

"It's not- it's not-" she stuttered, and then she took off as if she didn't even feel the gash in her leg. It took him a moment to regain his senses and take off after her, but he couldn't catch up no matter how hard he pushed himself; she bounded away like a deer, and he fell futher and further behind, until finally he turned a corner and she was nowhere in sight.

He slowed, then stopped, panting as he scanned the light pooling at the base of the street lamps. The crazy girl was fast, scary fast, and he was a little miffed she'd managed to escape so easily. Too bad he couldn't see souls, like her. They'd ran far enough that they were back into the general populace, but even among the people, he'd be able to find her with an ability like that.

He paused next to an older woman walking down the street, groceries in her arms. "Excuse me. Did a Western girl pass through here?"

She snorted in a croaky kind of way. "A laowai. Yes. She ran like a demon, nearly knocked me over. Rude."

He fought back impatience and managed to keep himself from shaking her, though it took effort. "Could you point me in the direction she went?"

The old lady considered, then sniffed loudly and stuck out a bony finger. Delun nodded his thanks and took off again. It took asking several more people before he tracked her down, crouching on her heels in an alley not unlike the one in which she'd just smashed something into a red smear, and when he caught sight of her, he couldn't seem to move his feet anymore.

She didn't notice him, she just sat there, unbelievably small, hunched over with her hand over her face. He could see a tiny puddle of blackness beneath her, like an oil slick, and his stomach did a flip. He'd seen a lot in his years as a weapon. Too much, probably, for nineteen years of life. There had been a lot of death, a lot of suffering, fear, and blood- untold amounts of blood. Blood of a different color wasn't even new to him. One time he'd taken out a cricket witch, and her blood had been a really ugly shade of green.

Whatever this was, though, polluting the veins of this poor blonde girl shaking in an alley, it seemed far more obscene than anything he'd ever seen before. More than just being purely wrong, it scared him, in a deep instinctual way.

He'd been assigned to her, though, and anyway if he just left her here in a place where no one spoke her language, she'd never be able to find her way back to headquarters. After some furious thought, he regretfully decided that his fear of Azusa's legendary wrath was slightly greater than his fear of the creepy black stuff leaking out of Maka, so he took a step into the alley.

She still didn't look up, but her voice came from behind her hands, muffled and cracked. He was pretty sure she'd been crying. "Are you going to stand there and stare at me or what?"

Oh. Right. She'd detected his soul. Feeling very stupid, he forced himself to walk closer to her. "Would you care to explain the black stuff to me? It's kind of disturbing, honestly." He took another quick look at her leg and was surprised, yet again, because although there was still blackness smudged all over her skin the actual wound was only beading up with pure scarlet now.

She gave a gusty sigh and peeked up at him, looking exhausted. "It stopped." At least her voice sounded human now, instead of like a robot.

"Yeah, still creepy though."

"Delun, look, it's a really long story and I'm tired and like you said, we're gonna have a lot of paperwork. Can we just go back?"

She could not be serious. He scowled at her. "No! That kishin egg knew your name and it called you brother. It said it knew you were coming. That was weird enough, it could mean we have a spy among the staff, that's a huge breach in our security, and then you go all Jet Li on the thing after throwing me on the ground, and _then_ you go all squid and start bleeding black, and then you take off, and-" He only realized he was ranting when she put up a hand to stop him.

"Rewind, please. It called me brother?" He nodded dumbly, taken aback at her sudden return to cool and collected atonality. She swapped personas like a normal person changed their clothes; one minute maddened by bloodlust, the next an ice queen, the next a frightened, tired girl. "Why does everything I try to kill know I'm coming?" she muttered, staring straight ahead at nothing, and then sighed shakily. "Delun, do I seem normal to you?"

He froze. It never went well for him when females asked deep questions about themselves; there was no right answer, as he'd discovered through painful experience. "Uh. No. You're totally nuts. Suicidal, even."

He'd added the last words as a bit of a morbid joke, but the wide-eyed way she looked at him made him feel he'd stepped over a line somewhere, so he tried again. "I mean, uh, you seem like you have a lot going on. Like you're really serious about everything. And obviously you have a blood disease of epic proportions. And monsters get gender confused about you. Just- look, there are no other weapons at the headquarters that are unpartnered and speak English so you and I are kind of stuck, not that I'm super thrilled, but whatever. So if we're going to fight together you owe me an explanation of what I'm getting into, because it's obviously something."

She took out her cell phone for some reason and stared at it, the bluish glow of the screen making her look like a drowning victim. "I can't keep it all down anymore," she said, very softly, so softly that he had to lean very close to hear her. "The black blood- did you hear about the witch Medusa Gorgon here?"

He thought hard, and wonder of wonders, it rang a bell. "Yes. A bit, anyway, I didn't pay much attention to the announcement."

She looked oddly horrified at that, but went on, still fiddling with her phone. "My partner, uh, he got cut by a weapon infected with the black blood. Well, a weapon that was blood, put inside a meister. Fusing them. The blood got inside him, and now he carries madness."

"Madness? But how did you get it? Did you get cut too?" He decided to keep to the basic, obvious questions, because anything else might pop his poor, overloaded brain.

"Not cut, no, but- it's happened once before, I was fighting someone without Soul and I accidentally used it, somehow. He got really mad." She positively whispered the last part. He was confused for a moment by the name she used for her weapon, but then he remembered her worrying about 'Soul' earlier and realized she'd been talking about a person, not an actual soul.

It would be a lie if he tried to pretend he wasn't curious as to why she'd signed up for an overseas job all alone. In fact he was dying of curiosity. It wouldn't do to ask outright, though- in fact, until she'd mentioned him just now, he hadn't had any clue if her partner was alive or dead. Asking people in their line of work things like that could really stir up some unpleasant things, as he knew all too well. He began to pace a little, from one side of the alley to the other, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Okay? So is it a bad thing? I mean, you took out that kishin egg pretty well by yourself with the black stuff. Maybe it's an advantage." Something else occurred to him, and he winced. "Oh. Is that why you wouldn't resonate with me? Thought I'd catch it?"

"Uh- kind of. I don't know, I really doubt you could that way, but- it's doing funny stuff lately. I have an anti-madness wavelength, but... I just wanted to hurt that thing, and you were getting in the way. I don't know how to wield you yet." She admitted that as if it tasted bad, face going stormy.

"Oh, well, pardon me," he groused sarcastically, then shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to stop feeling so angry at her. The good feeling from the soul was long gone. "Okay, that's weird but it makes sense. Sort of. How did the egg know your name, and why did it call you brother?"

She had her head cocked, like she was listening to something far away, and it felt like the air in the alley suddenly dropped twenty degrees. He saw his breath suddenly, and the hair rose on his arms. "Maka?" he said, a bit roughly. She shook her head like a wet dog, frowning a little.

"Yeah, sorry. Uh, are you sure that's what it said?"

"Born and raised here so yeah, I think I speak the language pretty well," he snapped, rubbing his arms and firmly repeating over and over to himself that there was no reason to be afraid.

She spread her hands and narrowed her eyes at them. "I need to make a phone call. Is there a pay phone around here? Do they have those here?"

"We're not barbarians, Maka."

"I meant in this part of town," she said tiredly. Delun suddenly felt very bad for snapping at her. Since when was he mean to wounded girls? Though after what he'd just been through, perhaps it was excusable... no, no it wasn't.

"Oh. Yeah. I think I saw one on the way here. Come on." She followed him meekly and he showed her how to use the phone they found, helping her pay and dial, before stepping away and leaving her to it, though he couldn't keep himself from casting quick glances at her. Her face was turned from him, but her body language spoke volumes. Whoever she was calling, she was terrified, literally shaking in her boots. He realized he was jiggling his foot and forced himself to stop. Mei Lien had always hated it when he did things like that. Smiling chocolate eyes flashed into his mind and he made a face at the ground. He really was far overdue for being back in his bed and fast asleep.

* * *

Soul only found out that he was lying on the black-and-white tiling, which Kid still hadn't replaced, when his cell phone rang. He wasn't sure if he'd been asleep or simply dreaming with his eyes open- the line between the two was so blurry lately- but either way, he sprang for the phone as fast as he could, and he lost his breath when he saw the strange number of the caller pop up on the screen. Foolishly, naively, he'd been praying for Maka.

It took several more rings before he decided to open it, and he had to creep to the window and peer out the blinds to make sure the sun was behaving before he could do so. It appeared he'd missed classes again, somehow. He laid back down on the cool tiles with relief and put his phone to his ear.

"Hello."

"Hi," she breathed, unmistakeable, and he bit his tongue sharply in surprise, his heart inflating to impossible proportions.

"Hi," he said back, stunned, not knowing what else to do. "I've been calling you."

"Sorry. I can't call out on my cell here."

"Oh." He got up, wandered into the bathroom, and spat out the blood in his mouth. His teeth really were inconvenient sometimes. How could he be talking to her like this and not have her in his head? It felt terrible. If she were here he knew that things would go back to normal. There wouldn't be voices in the shadows or in his brain anymore, no more darting shapes taunting from the corner of his sight. The apartment would get big again and the black walls would stop trying to crush him while he slept.

"You're not going to yell at me?" came her quiet nightingale voice, and he wanted to hold her.

"Nah. Would it really do any good?"

"I'm sorry," she said sobbingly. Something was wrong. Maka shouldn't be crying. His meister shouldn't cry, should she, he asked his reflection. The reflection spat out more blood and rolled its eyes at him like a frightened horse. No, no she shouldn't, and he didn't want to worry her, so he had to pull it together, just for this phone call. Wasn't that right? Another one of those voices, but this one agreed with him enthusiastically. He had to convince her that he was fine, because Maka crying was the worst thing in the world.

"Don't," he heard himself say, and was distantly amused at how calm he sounded. "Don't cry, don't be sorry. It's cool. I get it. Lord Death told me you took off. Stuff just got too intense at home, right?"

Another long beat of silence. "Yeah." She sounded so young right then.

"Well, it's fine. Nothing's up back here, everyone misses you though." What else did normal people talk about on the phone? The weather? He thought about the blinding sun outside and shuddered. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Xi'an, China."

"Huh. Never heard of it. Azusa's place?"

"Yeah. It's pretty, I guess."

"Mm." Easy chit chat. This was good. The shadows peering at him through the mirror approved. Death, but hearing her voice was beautiful.

"Soul, are you okay? Really okay?" she asked suddenly, with a desperate note in her voice, and the shadows roiled over his reflection. He blinked into the black fog that was suddenly inside his bathroom mirror.

Lying with the truth was always the most convincing, it told him. "Yes. I mean, I miss the shit out of you, but yeah. Why?" His concern for her overrode, for just a moment, the commands of the dark mirror to play it cool. "Are you okay?"

Another long, long moment before her voice came, longer than he liked. He tapped the mirror, idly, wishing his reflection would come back. He was very lonely, even with the voice of the girl he loved like honey in his ears.

"I'm fine," she told him. "I just, uh, I had a bad feeling. And I wanted to explain, and tell you I'm okay. I'll be back at the beginning of December."

"Two months. Yeah. You'll miss Halloween."

"And Thanksgiving," she said sadly.

"Yeah." There was a sudden bell, and he jumped. "What was that?"

"Oh, crud, I think it needs more money." Her voice grew a little fainter, like she was leaning away from the phone. "Delun? Delun, can you help me with this?"

His heart gave a great leap inside his chest. Who was Delun? Whoever he was, he was close enough to Maka that Soul could hear his voice as he explained something about cards and money. Bastard. Instead of spitting out the blood coming from his tongue, Soul swallowed it this time. He felt like he was on fire. Why was he still in the bathroom, anyway?

Her voice came back again clearly. "Three more minutes. Sorry. Soul, listen, I-"

It was so hard to hear her over the whispers from the corners of the room. The kitchen? He was in the kitchen now? Apparently. "Who was that?" he barked. He shut his eyes, but all he could picture were her long legs wrapped around someone else's hips, another man, and he snatched the coffeepot from the counter and threw it at the wall.

"It's the guy I was- what was that?" She'd heard the tinkle of broken glass. He wanted to punch something, savagely, so he punched the wall.

"What was what?"

"Oh, uh, nevermind. That's Delun, he's a meteor hammer."

She was wielding another weapon? The betrayal was as quick as it was vicious. Somehow when he heard 'internship' he'd imagined her behind a desk doing paperwork, or fetching coffee, not out in the field with some stranger. How could she? He couldn't keep her safe, not from so far away. How could she do this to him? The shadows seemed disapproving, and he felt dizzy suddenly. "Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah. So, um, how are classes?"

Classes? What? "Good," he answered vaguely.

"That's good." She sounded on the verge of tears again. He had to do something. Lie with the truth, right?

"I miss you," he said fervently. "I really miss you."

"I know. I got your messages. I miss you too. I'm so sorry."

He heard that male voice again in the background and gnashed his teeth. "I love you," he practically shouted.

She exhaled, a staticky crackle over the phone. "Oh. I love you too." She said it shyly, delicately, and he drank it in desperately. "We're almost out of minutes, I guess. Be careful, okay? Just lock the doors and stuff. Keep your eyes peeled." There were so many layers to her voice when they weren't resonating, and he couldn't tell what any of them meant. It was like being suddenly blind.

"For what?"

"Just promise me."

"Okay, okay, I will. Hey, is-" There was a faint pop and the line went dead. He eyed his traitorous phone and only the hope that she would call again kept him from throwing it too.

He was angry. In fact he was furious. At one point he stood outside the door to Maka's bedroom for a long time, staring at the doorknob. It seemed like such a breach of trust to go in there without permission. He put one eye to the splintery gash in the door, the one he'd made while trying to give her boots back, and her room looked just as it always had. It was neat, tidy, and had a disproportionate number of books all over. He watched as the shadows cast by the stacks of literature grew longer and longer. Was it really happening, just a symptom of the sun setting, or were they coming for him?

Then his phone rang again, and he twitched, drawing back from the door. It was another unfamiliar number, and he gulped. Maybe it was Maka again. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Maka Albarn's partner? Ah, Soul?" came an unfamiliar voice, that of a male, deep but young, and strongly accented.

"Who's this?" Soul answered suspiciously.

"My name is Delun Ko, I'm an employee of the Shibusen Chinese headquarters, East Asia division. I've been assigned to Maka during her internship."

Soul felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. "Is she okay? What's wrong?"

The guy on the phone hesitated. "Um, well, she doesn't know I'm calling you, actually, it's just that I helped her dial earlier. Some very strange things happened earlier."

"Strange things? Like what?" Half his brain was terrified for Maka while the other half was seemingly unable to stop the stream of pictures flowing through it; Maka, eyes half-lidded in lust as she writhed on a bed, or her legs up over the shoulders of a faceless man, or the swanlike curve of her back arched in ecstasy. Each image made him grind his teeth harder. "Like what?" he repeated, almost growling, knowing his tone was aggressive but unable to stop it.

"The kishin egg we fought knew her name, that she was coming, and it referred to her multiple times as 'brother'. Then she dropped me, killed the thing all by herself, and started bleeding black blood. She said you were the one originally infected. Wouldn't tell me anything else, though."

Soul reeled back against the wall, for once not even perturbed by the gelatinous feel of it closing in around him. "That's not possible, she's got a damn ocean between us. Are you sure it was black?" He took several deep breaths, trying to get a grip, because this was obviously important, but it was hard to breathe through the heaviness of the wall, and the shadows were everywhere, waving like kelp. They almost looked excited.

"Yes, very sure. I just want to know what exactly I'm dealing with. I want to keep her safe," Delun answered, sounding a little uncomfortable. "And, you know, not die myself either."

"Fuck. Uh, shit. It's from a witch. It's madness."

"She told me that, kind of, but she said she had an anti-madness wavelength, so why is it acting up now? The whole Medusa thing was years ago, I looked it up, so why is it just now becoming a problem for you two?"

That was a very, very good question. Why was everything go haywire just now? What exactly was causing all this madness? He thought, as hard as he could. Maka's voice came to him, bossy and irritated, lecturing him- "Soul, jeez, don't you ever listen in class? Many meisters have specific, inborn abilities unique to their own personal wavelength, like my anti-madness, or the way Stein can resonate with anyone. It changes according to the state of mind of the meister, though. Sound souls need a sound mind, remember?" She lived by that. She was the strongest person he knew, the bravest- except since Spirit died, she hadn't been. What effect had that inner turmoil had on her soul?

An awful suspicion dawning on him, Soul opened his mouth to reply, but something in his head gave a great agonizing snap. He gave up attempting to breathe as the black paint melted from the walls and crept past his lips to clog his lungs. He spat and hacked, unable to answer Delun's startled questions, falling to the floor and trying to crawl to the door, to a window, anywhere he could get some precious air. The shadows wavered more enthusiastically as spots started to swim in his vision. He wheezed helplessly, flat on his belly like a dog, and then there were two small, beautifully shined shoes in front of him.

"Come on, Soulie boy, it's finally time. Bit soon, but that's okay. Let's go have some fun, you'll feel much better," the owner of the shoes said with cheerful malice. Soul tried to look up, but he couldn't move. Delun's voice was still squawking in the background, faintly, from the dropped cell phone. A great wind roared to life outside, branches tapping against the windows, and then the last of the air was sucked from Soul's lungs and the last of the darkness poured in.

* * *

The air of the next breath he took was dense, but it brought him back to consciousness quickly. He sat up, gasping, eyes watering, and looked around, only to feel panic set in. He was in the Black Room. With a mental push, he tried to leave, the same way he always did, but nothing happened, and the panic grew. It was his soul, so by all rights he should be able to leave whenever he wanted, but that wasn't happening, no matter how he tried.

"Won't work, I'm afraid," said the little demon from his perch atop the piano, idly examining his nails. "A for effort, though. Shouldn't have taken off that demon tool, it was very irritating to work around."

"What the fuck is this shit, you little bastard?" Soul snarled at him. He stood up and all at once realized that his head was clear. There were no disembodied voices, no hallucinations, no creeping, crawling paranoia. It was a relief so strong that it washed away the panic for a moment; he was _back_.

"Well, you were just about to get it, but I couldn't have you telling all my plans to Maka's new boy toy, so I had to move a little sooner than I'd anticipated. It worked out quite well, though. You were even more weakened than I'd realized! You really do have some problems." The demon smiled so widely that every tooth in his oversize mouth was visible. It seemed he was quite enjoying himself.

"Go to hell!"

"I think I'd quite like it there, thanks, but I'm going to have a little fun in your world first."

Soul made to walk over and smash the demon's leering red face in, but his feet wouldn't move an inch. It felt like they'd been glued to the floor. "Tell me what you did, you little creep! I know you've been up to something foul!"

"Ah, yes, indeed I have! Quite ingenious too, if I do say so myself, though it involved a little patience." One of the demon's clawed, stubby fingers went to his chin in a mock-thoughtful gesture. "Hmm, isn't it a tad cliché for the villain to reveal his dastardly plot to the captured hero? I mean, that only happens in movies, no?"

"I'm going to kill you!" Soul raged. He tried to yank his feet free of their invisible bonds but only toppled forward, bashing his chin on the floor. This was bad, this was so very very bad. What was happening to his body, back in real time, if he was stuck here, unable to leave? He thought about what that Chinese guy had said, that Maka had been bleeding black, and felt nauseous. Whatever the ogre had been up to, it had obviously affected her somehow too, and Soul wanted to punch himself in the face as he remembered all the things he'd ignored lately, all the things that had been strange and wrong. He'd missed all the clear warnings, and he knew now that his massive stupidity was probably due to the machinations of the demon inside his brain, but it didn't make him feel any better.

The demon in question regarded him with obvious amusement. "Death threats, not very nice, but I'll satisfy your curiosity anyway." He steepled his fingers and leaned forward, apparently unfazed by Soul bellowing and thrashing around. "When Maka's poor old papa bit the dust her soul got scrambled, and that nasty little anti-madness wavelength she's so proud of got nicely mixed up too. Daddy dearest dying was exactly the thing I've been waiting for all these years. I knew it was just a matter of time before something big and bad happened and she cracked!" He cackled, drumming his tiny feet in mirth against the side of the piano.

"She's stronger than you think, and she's a hell of a lot smarter, too! She'll figure it out!" Soul shouted, biting back the nasty feeling that all his struggles were in vain.

"Oh, will she now? Funny, because she hasn't yet, and to be honest I haven't exactly been subtle. Those darn kishin wannabes you two are always killing have been giving away my presence, too. That's how the one in Paris tracked her. Did you know that the one she smooshed earlier called me brother? As if I would help him!" He snorted.

Soul stared at the chuckling demon in horror. "They know you?"

"No, dear boy, they sense a fellow evil! Madness is attracted to its own, you know. He kept thinking I would step in and save him from her!"

"You're not going to pretend you can control Maka! There's no way! You've been fucking whipped for years, you haven't been able to do anything!"

The ogre just smirked at him. "All I can do at the moment is see through her eyes and encourage a little crazy, but really I don't need to do much more. Maka's such an interesting little girl... For someone with such thick skin she really has so very many weaknesses for me to play with. Her daddy dying was so perfect, I couldn't have come up with anything better myself!"

"There's no way you can make Maka crazy!" Soul growled at him heatedly. The sight of that monster sitting on his beautiful piano was infuriating.

"I don't make anyone crazy, I just turn up the volume on whatever they already have, and she's got quite a bit buried down in her. Did you know that she plays with herself at night and thinks about you? It's rather funny, really. You're her biggest weak spot, Soulie boy, especially considering how you've treated her all these years, and I'm already inside her defenses. She's already past saving. Not that you could, since you're worthless without her, but regardless, it's too late!" He said it with such satisfaction, chortling and bobbing his head to an unheard tune.

Soul had nothing to say in reply; intelligent speech was beyond him at the moment. The idea of this perverse demon spying on Maka in her most vulnerable moments brought his blood to a boil. He pulled and wrenched at his legs, but they wouldn't move. "Fuck you!" he screamed, twisting awkwardly to bring his arm-turned-scythe down into his own ankle. The white-hot pain was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, worse even then the chest wound that had given him his scar, because at least he'd passed out then. It was all he could do to force himself past instinct to hack into his own flesh again and again, but he did it blindly, somehow, howling incoherent profanities as he clutched Maka's face desperately in his mind.

He fell onto his side as the last ligaments gave way to his blade, and he sobbed, unable to control it, barely able to see anything, except he still had one more leg to free before he could kill the thing threatening Maka, so he pushed himself up and readied his blade again.

"How heroic," the ogre said, almost approvingly, and Soul stared in shock at his perfectly whole legs. There was no blood. There was no severed foot still glued to the floor. He stood up, shakily, still sweating and retching from the echo of the pain, and took a step.

"What?" he whispered.

"It's no skin off my nose if you want to run around. I'll even make you one of those hamster wheels if you like. You're going to be stuck here, after all," said the demon with a beaming grin. "Quite a gory show you just put on, though. I was just about to let you go anyway."

Soul crossed the ground between them faster than he would have believed it possible for him to move, reaching for his enemy's throat, but when he got to the piano the ogre was already across the room somehow, straightening his jacket with a sigh.

"I own this place now, boy, and the sooner you accept that the better for you, I must say. I learned the trick to that from Maka, actually, when I managed to lure her in here during a dream. She fell right into my hands, tried to have your soul as a little midnight snack, and she showed me how." He snapped two red fingers idly and Soul watched in dawning despair as the piano disappeared, reappeared, then vanished again. The ogre gave him a little wave, then, still smiling. "Well, Soulie, I must be off now. If you behave perhaps I'll let you watch Maka next time she's in the shower, I find it quite entertaining. Ta ta!"

He disappeared with no noise whatsoever, and Soul fell to his knees before he realized it, mind working frantically. He pounded his fists on the floor, even though he knew it was futile, because he'd been trying to pull himself out of this place every second since he'd been here and it hadn't worked at all. He was trapped, captured and locked up inside his own head, and Maka, his beautiful meister, was in danger, an entire world away.

* * *

**Author says**: Whew! Sorry that took so long, I had an awful time figuring out how to transition Maka to another place with new characters.  
Anyway, hope you like,_ please_ review and let me know what you think, good or bad!  
Big thanks for all those who've done so already! :)  
Enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

She awoke from strange, misty dreams of swirling clouds and shredded paper to someone knocking angrily at her door. "Soul, what do you waaant," she called groggily, eyelids pasted shut. Since when was he the one knocking on her door? She was always up before he was.

The knocking grew louder. "Maka! Maka, open up. Now. It's Delun."

She peeled her eyes open with a start, the unfamiliar contours of her dark room waking her up more fully. Had she really managed to forget she was in China, instead of home, in her own bed, with only a wall between she and Soul? Homesickness hit her hard, and she sighed, rolling her sore shoulders as she sat up; the fight with that kishin egg had left her with some nice bruises in addition to the gash on her leg, which was currently throbbing dully in time with her pulse. She thought about peeling the bandage off, but if she opened the wound again and the blood was black she didn't know what she'd do. It had made her crazed earlier, terrified, when she'd seen that inky darkness running down her leg, even though she should have known; the sheer bloodlust she'd felt while fighting should have clued her in. "Oh. Hang on." She slithered out of bed and dragged herself over to the door, opening it to a Delun who was in mid-knock. He scowled at her.

"Maka, I called your weapon and he's in trouble. I already reported it to Lord Death, but-"

She felt the world fall out from under her feet and clutched the door frame desperately, the last shreds of sleepiness falling from her. "What?" she choked out. "Soul?"

"Yes," Delun snapped at her, looking tired and a little angry. He was still in his street clothes from earlier, she noticed; had he slept at all? He must have watched her as she dialed and memorized the number; clever, and sneaky too. "I called him to get to the bottom of this black blood business, we were talking very normally, and he began to have difficulty breathing. I heard a man's voice in the background and then silence." He spoke crisply, authoritatively, as if dictating a report, and part of her appreciated the professionalism at the same time another part wanted to claw his eyes out for bringing her such news.

She swayed, and the ghastly shape of her father lying under a sheet rose before her vision, a single lock of scarlet hair peeking from under it. Sometimes she thought that if she'd had the courage to lift it up and actually look before they took him away, it might have been better, because her imagination created the most terrible things under that sheet. Now instead of red, the hair was white, and she put a hand to her mouth to hold back the scream bubbling up. Death, but she was tired of this, this swooning about every time she got bad news, as if she were some delicate civilian flower who needed a man to take care of her. Her whole life she had thought she was so strong, so able to handle absolutely anything, but as soon as she'd heard Blair's sobs coming through her phone she'd known that she was actually incredibly, unbelievably weak.

Delun touched a hand to her shoulder, a bit awkwardly, but the gesture was sincere nonetheless. "Maka, this all just happened, and Lord Death sent someone over there the instant I called him, I'm sure your partner's fine. I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you, but-"

She shoved him frantically, jamming an elbow into his stomach, trying to squirm past him. He took it with a grunt, standing in her doorway and keeping her from rushing to Soul's side. "Don't tell me you're sorry! Get out of my way!" she yelped. There was nothing left to feel but panic, pure and distilled down to its most elemental form, eating away at her bones and her heart. She felt limp and weak, but she tried to rush past him anyway.

He pushed her back easily. "Maka, what are you going to do? A plane to the States will take hours anyway. It's best we just wait for news. Azusa said you're welcome to come to her office."

"No! No!" she babbled, clawing at him weakly, able to see nothing but Soul's face. "I have to go, this is my fault!"

"No it's not!" he said loudly. "Calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she shouted wildly. "You don't know what it's like!" Was she talking about her father or her weapon? She wasn't sure. They'd both melted into a single congealed mass of sorrow and terror and regret, like a stone in her stomach.

"Oh really!" he roared back, finally getting upset with her flailings. "My meister's dead, you stupid girl, I know exactly what this is like! I'm trying to help, okay, you're no good unless you calm down!"

The raw, choked anguish in his voice cooled her a little, enough that she was able to stop her frantic efforts at flight. "Your meister?" she said hazily.

"Yes. She died on a mission. Her name was Mei Lien. Why do you think I speak such good English? Her dad was an American, they took me in while I went to school! But she's dead now, and I was no help to her because I lost it, so you need to keep it together, okay?" He shook her hard enough that her teeth clacked, and she clutched at her aching chest. Oddly enough, the physical contact grounded her, just a little. There was something in his eyes so foul and agonized that she couldn't meet them for long, because it was too familiar.

"Okay, I'm okay now, let's go," she whispered. He let her go instantly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking incredibly torn up; it seemed she even managed to make people she barely knew unhappy, to stir up bad, painful things in them. She stared at his averted face for a moment, amazed that he was still alive and walking around, still fighting, even after losing his partner. He'd said her name like it was a plea for something, and she had a vague feeling that maybe they'd been more than just meister and weapon. Walking to Azusa's office, her feet felt encased in concrete. Delun stalked beside her, not looking at anything but the floor, brow wrinkled fiercely.

"I'm so sorry," she managed to tell him before they ducked inside. He just shrugged a little. Azusa, managing to look polished and competent even in her plaid flannel pajamas, turned to them sharply as they walked inside her office, which was all mahogany and leather, surprisingly masculine; Maka thought that her father would have liked it. It reminded her of his study, sitting abandoned and gathering dust, another thing she'd run away from. The shame of it clutched her throat; she couldn't speak a word.

"Maka Albarn," Azusa said, light glinting off her glasses. "Sit down."

Maka obeyed without conscious thought, dropping into a chair. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think about Soul and his beautiful suit lying motionless in a coffin. Azusa crossed her arms. "Soul Eater has not been located," she began, almost softly, trying to cushion her words. "There is no sign of forced entry, though there were possible signs of a struggle, some broken glass from a coffeepot, I believe. The apartment is locked from the inside, and no windows are open. His phone was at the apartment. His motorcycle is still parked outside. The entire city has been closed down and your friends and the staff there are conducting a rigorous search. I wouldn't worry. They're good at their job." She pushed her glasses up her nose as Maka shuddered.

Delun was tapping his foot and the sound made her want to scream, but she bit it down, settling for staring at the large mirror behind Azusa. At any moment Lord Death would show up, cheerful and bubbly, explaining that Soul was just fine and it was all a big misunderstanding. She repeated it to herself over and over, clutched it like a lifeline, because really that's what it was, and in between repetitions, she traced Soul's face in her mind, the bow of his upper lip, the winged lines of his pale brows, the way his lashes lay on his freckled cheeks when he was asleep. She thought about the tan velvet skin on the nape of his neck, the strength of his hand in hers, the shape of his long fingers, and she clenched her fists in fear and possessiveness. Nothing could take him from her. She wouldn't let it happen.

Minutes ticked by. Azusa, apparently deciding with characteristic efficiency that she might as well get some work done, sat down behind her massive desk and began shuffling through some paperwork. Delun kept lurking near the door, wriggling and shifting and drumming his foot, frowning at the ground.

Finally Maka turned to him. "Delun, you can go to sleep, I'm fine. Thank you for everything," she said mechanically, twining her fingers together. It was the same as when she'd driven to her father's house and offered coffee to the policeman; she took refuge in politeness, because it made her feel safer, confident, as if perhaps she could fool people into thinking she wasn't terrified.

Delun just rolled his eyes at her, a bit angrily. "Knock it off," he grunted, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers on one bicep. Apparently he didn't buy it. He had more under his skin then she'd thought when she'd met him initially, that's for sure. He'd been so appeasing, so nice and helpful. Maybe that was his own type of armor. Of course, she'd cracked it; she broke everything around her.

She listened numbly to Azusa rustling through paper for a while, to the scratch of her pen; sounds that normally would have been soothing to Maka. With a start, she realized that it had been a long time since she'd read a book for pleasure. Weeks, maybe. How strange.

"Delun," she said quietly. He grunted again, and she took it as an acknowledgement. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, go ahead. I might not answer, though." He came over and slumped into the chair opposite her; Azusa raised a single slim eyebrow at him, and he immediately straightened his posture, seemingly unconsciously.

"Okay. How long did it take you to be okay after your meister died?" She watched his face as she asked it, feeling uncomfortable, because it was such a personal and invasive question, and after all, she barely knew him. It seemed better to meet his eyes than to look away, though.

He swallowed and made a face. "Long time. Like, probably three or four months before I was back doing normal daily stuff again. Mei Lien died two and a half years ago and I mean, I still think about her all the time, but I don't feel bad when I have fun anymore. Does that help?" He glanced at her somberly.

She nodded, feeling her lips curve automatically in a gross imitation of a smile, and then returned to thinking about Soul. If she believed, if she knew how, she'd be on her knees praying to the heavens, offering anything and everything if it meant he would be all right.

Azusa gave a sudden, loud sniff; Maka and Delun both jumped and looked at her. The death scythe just pointed with a thumb over her shoulder at the mirror, and Maka felt her heart leap to her throat to choke her. Lord Death was there, masked face unreadable as always, huge white hands linked in front of him.

"Well, hello, there, Maka," he said, apparently realized that she couldn't speak. Azusa stiffened at his tone and swiveled to face him. "We're still looking, but so far, we haven't found Soul."

That was all he said, but she caught the grim undercurrent to his words immediately. "Look harder," she pleaded, gripping the armrests of her chair tightly.

He sighed, and the shreds of his normally gravity-defying cloak drooped. "Maka, I am so sorry," he said, in the most human tone she'd ever heard from him. He sounded sad and very, very tired, and she felt for a moment as if she could almost see through the mask, to the being inside who had to live each day of a life far too long drenched in death. She suddenly felt exceedingly young and selfish, knowing that he must have seen countless friends and loved ones slip away. How old was he really?

"Can I come home and help? Please? We have to find him," she whispered. A hot tear slipped from her eye and down to her trembling mouth.

He shook his head a little. "Black Star and Tsubaki told me that he's been behaving very erratically. I fear that the black blood has something to do with his disappearance."

She slit her eyes at him in sudden fury. "Then why did you let me come here?" she snapped. "You told me to my face he would be fine! You said that nothing bad would happen if I left!"

"I didn't think anything would happen, Maka, and that's an oversight I'll have to live with," he answered, leaning very close to the mirror until the eyeholes of his mask looked disproportionately huge. "The blood's been dormant for so long that I assumed he had control of it. I thought the risk of something happening was outweighed by the benefit of allowing you to leave and get better, and to be honest, considering Sid's report as to what happened during your fight with Black Star, it seemed to me that your presence might actually have been exacerbating the illness. Stein concurred with me... we didn't think something like this could happen so quickly."

Excuses, excuses. He was supposed to be a being of supreme wisdom, a god, all-knowing, and he made a stupid mistake like that? Maka shook her head, digging her fingers into her scalp. "You said it would be fine if I left, you said he didn't need my anti-madness wavelength," was all she could say. For a moment, the thought occurred to her that she was being a bit unfair, considering the black blood was a new creation of Medusa. It wasn't like he would have any experience with the thing, and she had begged him to let her go, pleaded, so it was mostly her fault anyway, as usual.

"I truly believed Soul would be fine, especially with the demon tool Stein gave him repressing his wavelength." He bobbed around unevenly, tapping his large forefingers together, seeming very anxious.

"I'm coming home," she said dully, looking away from him.

"If you wish," he said agreeably, slipping back seamlessly into his regular, animated persona. "See ya soon then!" With that, and a mock salute, he disappeared. Maka bit her lip. She'd had such faith in Lord Death, looked up to him, believed in him and everything he stood for, and he'd let her down. It was as if he'd stabbed her in the back, yet she knew that what he'd said made sense; there had been no problems with the black blood for years, and apparently that demon tool had been a sneaky way to keep Soul safe from himself too, from more than just her. There had been no reason to believe Soul wouldn't be fine for two short months. Despite the logic of it, despite knowing her feelings weren't rational at all, she still felt enraged.

"What an absolute idiot," Delun said, blinking at the mirror. Maka agreed heartily.

Azusa pointed a finger at him, glaring venomously. "Watch your tongue, Ko, he had no reason to think Eater would be in any kind of danger," she snapped. Delun cringed as if she was about to put a bullet in him.

"Pardon!" he yelped, then frowned as Maka stood up robotically. Her face was as dead as he'd ever seen it, expressionless and cold. Only the wet glistening trail of a tear on her cheek gave her away. "Hang on, I'll, uh, walk you back to your room," he said, jumping up to follow her, though he kept his eyes on Azusa as they left the room.

"I'll book you an early flight for tomorrow," the death-scythe said crisply to Maka's back, pushing her glasses up her nose. As the door to her office closed behind him and Maka, he saw his boss sit down hard with her head in her hands. It was a rare moment of humanity from her, and it startled him. First Lord Death, then Azusa- all the authority figures in his life were becoming less like legends and more like real people suddenly. He didn't know if he liked or hated the new perspective.

Maka didn't say a word to him as they moved through the dark hallways of the Chinese headquarters. He wondered how her leg was feeling. He didn't have to wonder how her heart was, though, because he knew from experience.

When they reached her room, he jumped ahead to open the door for her, feeling an awkward mix of concern and confusion. He felt bad for having been the one to break the news to her, and he sincerely hoped her partner was okay and this was all just a big misunderstanding. She shuffled past him into her room like a zombie, still silent, but her eyes met his for the briefest of moments. It felt like he'd been zapped by green lightning, and foreboding gripped him.

She moved to shut the door, but he jammed his foot in the doorway before she could. She raised a slim brow.

"Don't do anything foolish," he said quickly. She gave him an unreadable look and kicked his foot out of the way, shut the door, and he heard the lock click into place. He blew out a breath, feeling the stress of the long, crazy day hit him all at once. He should probably go get some sleep, because judging by that look he'd caught in her eyes, she was planning something, and since she was the most foolhardy, wildest girl he'd met in a long time, it couldn't be good. He'd probably have his hands full in the morning with whatever scheme she was cooking up in that little blonde head. He crossed his fingers as he went back to his own room, hoping against hope that Azusa was able to Maka get a nice, early flight and get her out of here before she put him through more madness. Hopefullt her story would have a happier ending than his.

* * *

It was endless. It was eternity. It could very easily have been hell, and perhaps it was. Soul could shut his eyes and still know every last particle of the rooms he was wandering in. They were all the same. There was nothing else. He was pretty sure he'd been walking for days, but not a thing changed; he was getting very, very tired of opening doors only to walk into rooms perfectly identical to the last, complete with long velvet drapes, cheesy candelabras and an array of indistinguishable pianos. He never, ever thought he could think badly about pianos, but he was beginning to hate the sight of them. It was the Black Room, again and again, behind every single door, and even though he had his sanity back, he wasn't sure it would last long.

He kept going, though, because he had nothing else to do except try. He wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or sleepy. He'd tried transforming his arm into a scythe long ago and hacking through the walls, but the holes he made only led into more copies of the original Black Room. He'd then tried standing on the piano and going through the roof, and then the floor, only to get the exact same result. So he just kept walking, kept turning doorknobs and pushing aside red velvet, cursing the little demon as loud as he could at regular intervals and hoping that somehow his insults were heard.

It didn't hurt or become wearying putting one foot in front of the other, at least not physically; he was mildly grateful for that strangeness, anyway. It was the mental torture that was the problem. He was so bored, so unbelievably scared and helpless, that he mostly wanted to just sit in a corner and doze, but he couldn't. Would the Soul of years ago, the young boy fresh to the Academy, before he'd ever met Maka, have been able to continue? He thought about it and concluded that no, his spoiled and slightly selfish past self would never have pushed so hard. Past Soul hadn't had Maka to fight for, though.

A long time later, he was in the middle of a daydream about a big, bacon-y cheeseburger when a sound reached his ears; it was so foreign to him after endless silence that it stopped him in his tracks. It was faint, but oddly familiar. He shut his eyes and listened hard, cocking his head. It sounded like someone shouting, very far away. A light tickle brushed the back of his skull and his heart skipped a beat.

"Hello?" he called back before he could help himself. For all he knew this was some scheme of the ogre, sick entertainment for his captor, but he couldn't stop himself. He was frantic for contact with someone, anyone. Hell, he'd almost welcome seeing the little demon, just to break the monotony of wandering through the rooms.

The voice came again, sounding closer, and a chill shot up his spine. It sounded very familiar. "Hello! Over here! Hello!" he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth, heart beating wildly. It couldn't be. It couldn't be who he thought it was.

But then she rushed into his head like a waterfall, soothing and cooling, and he knew before she even opened the door in front of him, flushed and panting as if she'd been running, and it _was _her, his meister, beautiful and perfect. He gaped at her, and she returned the look, wide-eyed and wondering, flipping wildly between elation and shock inside his head. He heard those chimes again, coming faster and faster as she stared at him, the ones that spoke of her love for him, and it weakened his knees. She was the most gorgeous sight he'd ever seen, she was water in the desert.

"Soul?" she said, almost inaudibly.

"Hey," he answered after a moment. As soon as he spoke she gave a great gasp and tackled him. He hit the ground with a grunt, not caring at all, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he possibly could; he didn't think he'd ever let go. She pulled away just enough to smash her lips into his, and he tasted the salt of her joyful tears as she laughed into his mouth. She was all wriggling hysteria and he loved it passionately. His name tumbled breathlessly from her lips, over and over, interspersed with giggles and muffled exclamations of happiness as she pressed kisses all over his face.

After the absence, she went straight to his head like fine wine. He put a hand on her hip and shoved her off him and onto her back underneath him, unable to stop himself from tasting every exposed inch of her neck, from nipping along her collarbone, from sliding his hands up her shirt, greedy to touch every inch of her soft skin that he could. She laughed into his neck and cried out and whimpered, winding her hands in his hair and tugging him closer; it felt so good he thought he might die, and in his mind she was a thick burning melody that sizzled right through his chest. Touching her was such a rush, such an addictive pleasure, and she was so enthusiastic about it for once, which only made it stronger. He moved up to taste her lips again, to kiss the tears off her cheeks, and she bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. It sent an unexpected heat through him, and he growled and pulled her head back by the hair so he could run his teeth along her neck again. She growled right back, legs wrapping around his hips possessively, still saying his name, as if she knew how hotly insane it drove him to hear. He should have known Maka would like a little rough treatment. She hated doing anything halfway.

A thought finally managed to sink in through the lust fogging his brain, and he groaned, breathing heavily into her shoulder, though he couldn't bring himself to take his hands off the silky planes of her stomach. "What are you doing, stopping," she whined angrily, yanking his hair again, and he wanted to laugh at her, at how real and wonderful she was when she ordered him around.

"How do I know it's really you," he murmured, rising over her on his elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded and dazed, very green, and he felt sharp pride that he'd brought her to such a state, out of breath and shivering with each touch of his fingers. "Also, are you in your pajamas?" he added after taking a better look at her. She was in baggy shorts and an equally large t-shirt, oddly enough, but then again, he wasn't in his suit. Apparently he couldn't even control that anymore in this screwed-up Black Room house of horrors.

"Shut up," she said irritably, flushing a little. "If you're not going to keep doing that then get off me."

"I didn't say that," he grinned at her, and she blushed harder, letting her head fall back against the floor.

"Um," she said thoughtfully, suddenly looking very serious. "Okay. You steal my shampoo sometimes, you only like Pepsodent toothpaste because you think it tastes like root beer- you're wrong about that, by the way- you keep porno in your bedroom, uh, you hate Stein, and you got my boots fixed for me."

"Okay, definitely you." He eyed the white shoulder that was exposed by her overlarge shirt hungrily, but the thought of what a serious situation they were in made him roll off her, albeit not without very serious and fervent regret. She coughed, gave a little ripple in their resonance, and he glanced over to see her turning redder than the ripest tomato, eyeing the tent in his pants and looking almost horrified. He rolled his eyes, amused. Only his meister could magically pop into the subconscious world he was trapped in, make out with him ferociously, and then somehow manage to be shocked that his dick had gotten hard. Nonetheless, he sat up and drew his knees up a little, making it less obvious so she didn't pass out or something. It was Maka, all right, back and forth and completely all over the place in her emotions.

"Chill," he told her, unable to stop the idiotic smile on his face. "Okay. Damn, but I am so glad to see you. I love you. How did you get here? How long has it been? What's that ogre jackass doing with my body?"

She looked contemplative. "Is he the one who did this? I'm assuming you're stuck here, right?" He sighed and explained everything to her, from passing out while on the phone, to waking up in the Black Room, to wandering about endlessly, up until she showed her face. He skipped over the part where he hacked off his own leg, though, because even though she didn't seem to have one, he couldn't be entirely confident that she wouldn't conjure up a book from somewhere and brain him with it for being so stupid. He also didn't include the explanation given by the little ogre, about how her soul going haywire had been the thing to weaken her anti-madness wavelength and allow the demon to encourage their madness; she didn't need another thing to feel guilty about. He'd tell her if it became necessary, but not until then.

"Wow," she said, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. "That's- wow. I never thought anything like this could happen..." She proceeded to tell him about what Lord Death had said in Azusa's office, and he grimaced. So his body was missing, then. This was bad.

"Fuck," he said eloquently. "Hey, how do you know it's really me?"

She snickered, tapping her temple. "It's your soul, dummy, no one can fake that." He raised a brow at himself. Duh. He should have known the moment her soul reconnected with his that she was real, and not some creation of the ogre. No way that stupid little thing could make something as harmonious and complex as his meister.

"Well, how'd you find me?" he said idly, caught up in the joy of having her back.

"Soul Perception. I went hunting."

"From China," he said in disbelief. She shrugged, a faint line appearing between her brows.

"Yeah. I know. It's really not- I have no idea how I did it. I was surprised, too, I was just looking for you even though I didn't think it would work because I had to do something and then somehow I fell in here. I've just been wandering around looking for you. I could feel you, I just couldn't pinpoint you. It's like a maze."

"Yeah, it is, it's so uncool," he said, frowning. "Oh, man. Do you think he set a trap for you? Like, to draw you in here and get you stuck with me? He knows you've got Soul Perception."

She looked thunderstruck. "Oh, no. Maybe. I mean, I never thought I'd find you, I was just so scared, I had to do something. It does seem awfully convenient that I just stumble over your soul."

"Well, have you tried leaving?" he asked. She shook her head. "Okay. So try."

"But what if I can't find you again?" she said, a little desperately, and he cringed as he saw her eyes welling up again. "Soul, I can't- I thought you were dead. I can't deal with that again. No way."

He made a face, then lifted his head and held her gaze. "Maka, I'm so sorry. You know I didn't mean for this shit to happen. I wouldn't have scared you if it was my choice."

"I know," she said sadly. He reached out impulsively and pulled her close under his arm, nuzzling her hair and relishing the silky softness of it.

"I've been walkin' around her forever, I tried everything I could think of. Pretty sure there's no way out, so you'll have to leave and help me from the real world. It's the only way." He hated himself for the words even as they left his lips, for making her do things alone again.

"It was literally only hours since you disappeared when I started looking for you," she said in confusion. "It only felt like a few more since I got here. Has it really seemed that long to you?"

"Don't change the subject," he reprimanded half-heartedly. "You know time's screwy in here. Hey, how'd you find out, anyway?"

"Delun was on the line. He heard someone's voice and he called-"

"He heard him?" Soul said, flabbergasted at the implications of someone unaffected by the black blood being able to hear the physical voice of the ogre, and in the real world, no less. Maka raised a brow, for once, not understanding something immediately.

"Yeah, definitely," she answered, then blinked. "Oh! Whoa. So that creepy jerk actually made it outside?"

They both shared a look that spoke volumes. "This is so not cool," Soul finally said, and his meister nodded in fervent agreement, twisting her hands together in indecision.

"I really, really don't want to leave you," she said in near-anguish.

He kissed her, hard. "I know. But you have to. I'll be waiting." He attempted an encouraging grin, which slid off his face like syrup when she started to tear up again.

"Fine, I'll do it," she said, and her voice was the old, determined voice, the voice she used when she claimed the souls of monsters. It was a stark contrast to the fright on her face, but it put the warmth back in his belly. If anyone could get them out of this damn mess it was his fierce hellcat Maka, the Maka of the old days, the girl who'd lifted him up so high over the years. Did she even know how much she'd done for him? He resolved to tell her once this was all over and done with. He eyed the way her legs flexed as she stood up and resolved to also pick up where they'd just left off, rolling around on the floor. Those legs belonged nowhere but wrapped around him.

She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and squinted, looking very determined. He waited. She frowned harder.

"Uh, what's up?" he said at last.

"It's not working," she said in consternation.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it's not working, you numbskull, I can't leave the way I normally can," she snapped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking wrathful. "You have got to be kidding me. Try harder!"

"I am trying, you jerk!" she said furiously.

"Obviously not hard enough!" he said back, jumping to his feet. This was terrible. It was bad enough that he was stuck here, now Maka was too? Their friends were probably frantic on the outside, and who knew what awful things the ogre was doing with his body, because obviously it wasn't in the apartment anymore.

Maka interrupted his train of thought by whacking him on the side of the head. "Idiot!" she barked. "It's not my fault, okay?"

"Quit being so damn violent!" he shouted, rubbing his head. He should have known she'd assault him anyway, even without a book. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, it's just this sucks. What are we going to do?"

She rubbed her temples, still scowling at him, but when she spoke her voice had levelled out. "I guess we just keep trying and trust our friends to find you."

Soul groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "Awesome. I love being useless."

She sighed. "Yeah. Me too. Honestly, though, I feel better here than I have in a while. My brain's not all foggy."

"Me too. I don't think he can get at our minds in here. I was kind of- uh, well, I wasn't exactly doing so great for a while there," he admitted. "But as soon as I came in here it all went away."

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and shook her fist at the ceiling. He stared at her in confusion. "Hear that, you ugly red midget!" she shouted. "We're together, we have our brains back, you're totally screwed! Enjoy being in the real world while you can because it's not going to last long!"

Soul groaned and put his face in his hands as she flashed him a toothy grin. "You are so unbelievably cheesy," he said in exasperation, torn between busting up with laughter and shaking his head at her ridiculous antics.

She just shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Made me feel better, anyway. I like striking fear in the hearts of my victims."

"He probably can't even hear us," he told her. She shrugged again.

"Don't care. Come on, let's go." She held out her hand to him, a little shyly, and he took it, hearing again that light chime. They started walking, fingers interlinked, opening door after door in quick succession. She was a thrumming staticky ball of determination in his brain, and he felt much more optimistic than he had the entire time he'd been walking around here. Her speech had been silly, but it was true; they were cleansed of madness and they were together again. There wasn't anything they couldn't do.

* * *

**Author says: **Well, here you guys go! Thanks so much to everyone who's taken the time to leave a review for me.

They really do help and encourage me; I love love love getting them.

Hope you enjoy! :)


	10. Chapter 10

"Food you hate most. Besides fish."

"Ugh. I guess ranch. Stuff's gross."

"What is wrong with you? That's the dressing of the gods, woman."

"Whatever. What time of day were you born?"

Soul shook his head in mild exasperation. "You think of the weirdest questions. I have no idea. I think it was in the morning, maybe?"

"It's not weird. Your turn," Maka said, pushing open another door as she spoke.

"Eh. Second favorite color."

"Second?"

"I already know your first favorite. Duh."

She scowled at him a little, pushing aside a red curtain and reaching for the next door handle. For a while they'd tried counting the Black Rooms they wandered through, but it had quickly gotten depressing. They'd gotten to three hundred and seventeen before Maka exploded in a fit of rage, destroyed a few things, and demanded they stop. "I guess blue. Dark blue, though. Cobalt. Like the night sky. It's pretty."

"I'll inform Black Star you like his hair, he'll be thrilled," Soul said dryly.

"Shut up, you. What he has isn't hair, it's a cotton candy travesty."

"I can't shut up, you're supposed to be asking me a question. Your turn."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. First kiss?"

"Like, real kiss? Not just a peck on the lips?" She nodded, and he thought for a moment, reaching in front of her to get the next door. "Amy Reynolds, when I was twelve. Summer before I came here."

She strode through the door he was holding open like she was going to war, regardless of the fact that her pajamas weren't very intimidating. "_Oh,_" she huffed, walking very fast, and he grinned at her back. She was trying to hide it, but he could feel her jealousy through the bond and was exceedingly amused by it.

"Anyway. It was just one kiss. I only hung out with her 'cause our dads were business partners."

"Mm." She threw him a quick, boiling look.

He grinned at her harder. He'd been her first kiss, and he knew it. It was deliciously satisfying in a very deep way. "Ask me."

She strode on, tapping a finger on her lips as they crossed what felt like the millionth expanse of tiled floor. "Okay, uh, who was your hero when you were a kid?"

He ran a hand through his hair, contemplating, and finally said, "I guess it was my brother. Wes is a pretty cool dude and he's way better at the piano than me. I kinda hated him for it but I loved him too, you know? He never minded helping me practice."

"He sounds nice," Maka said softly, glancing at him in a sideways fashion, and he wished she'd asked _him_ his favorite color because in the past few years it had mysteriously changed from red to green. "Does he look like you?"

"Kinda. Brown hair and eyes, though, like Dad. I look like my mom. She's got the hair and stuff. Normal teeth, though." He pointed at his wild white head as he spoke, and Maka thought idly about how neither of them kept family pictures around. She'd never seen his family, and he'd never seen a picture of her mama. Was it that they didn't want to be reminded of their families, or of themselves and the ways that they didn't fit in among their kin? Black sheep, the both of them. He hadn't gone home to visit his folks in over a year, and whenver he did, he came back snappish and ill-tempered. She might as well be an orphan anyway, considering how much contact she had with her mother. The thought burned, because she'd always kind of thought being an orphan was romantic and adventurous, like Jane Eyre maybe, but the reality was so awful.

"I bet she's pretty," she said. She thought about her mom. Spirit had always told her they looked almost identical, though she herself hadn't seen it as a younger girl, and she knew that they had the same coloring, the same fine bones, but her mother was different. Kami had an effortless, extravagant, blooming elegance about her that made Maka feel like a clumsy clod, just thinking about it. It turned her into a bombshell, somehow, and Maka knew that if her mama had wanted to, she would have been able to cheat on her papa in the blink of an eye.

Soul brought her back down to earth as he spoke again about his own mother; Maka was suddenly burningly curious to know what she looked like. She resolved to find out at some point. "Yeah. She used to be a model. What's creepy on a dude is exotic on a chick, apparently." He rolled his eyes, slicing through another batch of red velvet drapes with an arm turned blade, moving through the shreds to the next door without slowing at all.

"I always used to wish I'd gotten my dad's hair," she mused. It was true. She'd wanted it so bad as a younger girl, and even sometimes nowadays. She'd wanted those fiery red locks, those vibrant blue eyes, coloring that was unusual, that stood out somehow. Instead she'd gotten stuck with boring, mundane, dirty-dishwater blonde- forgettable and plain.

Soul reached out and ruffled said hair, deftly dodging her instinctive swipe at him. "I like your hair, it's pretty," he said firmly. "My turn. 'Kay, um, I already know your mom was your hero..." He trailed off and pondered for a moment. "Okay. Biggest fear." He watched her as he said it, because it wasn't a question he'd have felt really comfortable asking her before they got trapped here, but things had changed while they wandered on and on, evolved in some way that told him she would probably understand that he asked out of love and curiousity and a burning desire to know every single piece of her, rather than trying to tease or belittle. They'd ping-ponged back and forth between pouring their hearts out and talking about, quite literally, the weather as they traded questions and answers. Death only knew how long they'd been doing it, how long they'd been walking through this infinity of rooms inside his soul, but they'd had to come up with some way to keep their new-found sanity, so they'd settled on this game. He liked it. He loved listening to her voice, watching her hands flutter and swoop like swallows, illustrating her stories.

She frowned a little, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows; he reached out and smoothed it over with his thumb, grinning as she rang that loving bell inside his head again. "Well, it used to be failing out of the Academy, but lately I keep imagining how everyone I love is going to die," she said matter-of-factly, ignoring how his steps stuttered for a moment. He'd been expecting her to say she feared being alone. On second thought, she probably did, but he'd asked for her biggest fear, not all her fears.

"That must suck," he told her after a bit, wanting to wrap her in his arms and tuck her away somewhere safe. It sounded stupid, but he meant it. Why did he always feel so protective of her, when she could kick his ass and not break a sweat? He didn't know why, but the irrationality of it didn't change his instincts. Maybe it was a dude-in-love thing. He'd have to ask Black Star. Maka just shrugged a little, mouth twisting.

"Yeah. It makes me really angry."

He raised a pale brow. "Angry?"

She waved one hand, her other on a doorknob. "Yeah, because so much of it's preventable. Like Stein. He's going to get cancer from all those stupid cigarettes, if he doesn't already."

"Oh." He wrinkled his nose reflexively, remembering the smell of tobacco that always wafted around after their insane professor. She was right. It was weird and disheartening to think of Stein and all his jittery nervous energy stuck in a hospital bed wasting away, but he smoked what had to be at least two or three packs a day. Even he, such an anomaly in every other aspect of his life, couldn't beat the statistics.

"It's like I'm living in a zombie movie, everyone's dead," she muttered, tugging and twisting at the corner of her overlarge t-shirt. "I don't know if I'm trying to prepare for when they die so it doesn't hurt so bad or what but I hate it." He thought about that. Death was part of their lives- not only was it their boss, it was their job and that of all their friends. If he asked her, Maka could probably quote the death rate of Academy graduates, but then again, he didn't really want to know.

They kept walking, passing through room after room. The game died for a while as they moved, each wrapped up in their own heads. Finally Soul broke the silence. "Kid's gonna have major blood pressure problems. You know, if that's possible for a god or whatever. He'll die from stress," he said. He was only half joking.

Maka gave a bitter little snort, taking it further. "Yeah. Marie will probably get dissected by Stein at some point, when the next kishin comes along. She just refuses to leave, and he almost got her last time... Black Star will have a heart attack because his arteries will be clogged full of junk food, he sneaks it every day when Tsubaki's not looking, salty greasy crap all the time." They both shook their heads in simultaneous, sickened wonderment, because it was true; the ninja managed to fit in at least one extra meal every day, on top of Tsubaki stuffing him to the gills with her home cooking. If he didn't work out constantly he'd be an absolute blimp.

"And Tsubaki will die of, like, the flu or something lame, because she's always too busy taking care of him to bother going to the hospital or anything," Soul said. He almost went on to say the thing they hadn't yet, that they all had a much higher chance of dying at the hand of an enemy than anything remotely resembling 'natural causes' but he decided not to.

Maka shuddered suddenly and violently, doubling over, and he stopped in his tracks to stare at her, bladed arm halfway through another curtain. He'd thought that there were no topics off limits right now, but apparently some things were still too much for her. She raised watery emerald eyes to him and he cringed at the desperation in them.

"And you- you- you're going to get killed because of me," she whispered. The tears overflowed and raced down her cheeks to drip off her chin. In his head, those chimes rang out, again and and again, coming faster every second. He just barely managed to stop his hand as it rose of its own accord to rub his scar.

"So that's your biggest fear?" he finally asked her, swallowing convulsively. He was crippled in the face of her tears, as always. She bowed her head. He took that for a yes and told her the truth. "I'd rather die before you than have to hang around after you're gone."

She trembled harder, then went over and sat down on the bench of the piano that was gleaming innocently in this particular Black Room. She looked very slight and delicate as she cried. It would never cease to amaze him just how small she could appear, despite being an entirely competent and enthusiastic killer. "That's selfish, you jerk," she told him wetly, sniffling.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's really uncool. It's the truth, though. I know it's not fair but I can't make myself want to live alone. Don't want you to deal with it either but one of us will at some point." He went over and sat down beside her, leaning back to prop his arms on the keyboard, ignoring the discordant clash of notes it produced. She leaned into him and he muffled, "I love you," into her hair.

"Love you too," she answered hoarsely. His breath hitched at the electric feel of her lips moving against his collarbone as she spoke.

"We can leave," he thought out loud.

"Huh?"

"We can leave. Once we're out of here. We can quit being a meister and a weapon and just be two people in love. You know, boring and normal with a white picket fence and all that shit. I'll teach piano. You can be, like, a personal trainer or something, something where you get to yell at people. You'll love it and it will be longer before we die." He felt a little drunk as he spoke, though he didn't know if it was from her closeness, the passionate crazy in what he was suggesting, or simply the disorientation of feeling his body at rest after walking for so long. He was wildly curious as to how long it had actually been in the real world. What if they got out, forty years had passed, and their bodies were old? Then they wouldn't even have to worry about all this stuff.

She fisted a hand in his shirt and he felt her entire body tense. A sharp twinge stabbed at the backs of his eyes, and the bond gave a funny, uncomfortable flail. He looked down over the top of her head and tensed too, because right before his eyes a gash was appearing in the creamy perfection of her thigh, a seam unraveling across her skin to drip lines of red that were brighter than anything in this cursed room. He clapped a hand to it as she squawked, sliding off the piano bench and dropping to his knees beside her wounded leg, putting all his weight onto it.

"What the fuck!" he said frantically, to no one in particular, pressing harder. She gaped down at him, cheeks still wet, and oddly enough, his brain decided to spend a moment being happy that she finally trusted him enough to cry in front of him without apologizing or going into a tirade of self-loathing. What was wrong with him? He asked himself that every damn day of his life and could never figure out an adequate answer.

"That's from the kishin egg," she said abruptly, voice quite calm. "The one in China. The one Delun and I fought."

"You never told me you got hurt!" he barked hotly, immediately furious. She peeled his fingers away for a moment, squinting at the wound and appearing vastly relieved for some reason.

"It's not black," she said in a low, passionate voice. He started at that. "Soul, this is the first thing we've seen change here in forever. This is something new."

His heart felt like a frog kicking in his chest, pounding way too hard. He chanced another quick peek behind his fingers and managed to calm a little, because it was bad and probably hurt, but it was nowhere near life threatening. "You're right," he started to say, but she cut him off, eyes lighting up.

"Soul, I changed something! I changed something! I did it! I've only been trying to leave but I should have been trying to change stuff, oh, I cannot believe I was so dumb! This means that we can get out of here. Maybe the little ogre's distracted right now, or something, but I can change it!"

He sat back on his heels, stomach churning as her slippery blood smeared his hands like gory gloves. "That explains why my head is killing me right now." She gripped the edge of the bench so hard that her knuckles turned white. He didn't have to say anything else. The prickle of guilt in his aching skull told him that she knew exactly what he was referring to. Last time she'd changed his soul, the time she'd appeared in his dreams and brought pine trees and crows into the Black Room, it had almost killed him. "What were you thinking about when your leg started bleeding? Also, can you fix it?" he made himself ask, trying to focus.

She shook her head, hard, hair flying about marvelously. He liked it down and loose. It made her look older and yet more innocent at the same time, framing her eyes enticingly. "I- just- thinking it wasn't fair you've been hurt so badly and I haven't ever. And no, I'm not even going to try, it will hurt you, dummy," she snapped, somewhat ruining the effect.

"If you weren't so hot I'd totally let you bleed out right now," he growled back vindictively, pissed that she would feel guilty for never having been badly hurt, of all the stupid things in the world. He ignored the fact that her wound wasn't severe enough for that, and anyway, he'd never do such a thing. They matched furious glares for a moment. He wouldn't have been all that surprised if the air between them ignited.

Finally she looked away, though her glower didn't fade one whit. "I am not doing that to you again."

"Well, yeah, I don't want you to do what you did before either, do something different that doesn't almost murder me," he told her acidly, trying to remain patient. This was the first hope of escape they'd had, and it was hard not to jump on it.

She mimicked his pose from earlier, leaning her back against the keyboard and slinging her arms out wide to rest on the ivories, face slowly morphing from furiously stubborn to contemplative as she stared down at him. He became highly aware of how open and exposed she was, bare legs spread akimbo in front of him as he leaned on her bloody thigh. The fact that she was sitting at a piano only made him want her more.

"Maybe we can share it," she said slowly, thoughtfully, gaze growing distant. It was her patented nerd look, the one that meant she was figuring something out in her head, and he felt relieved to see it. He stayed silent, letting her talk it out to herself. "Because before it was me tugging on you and everything changed, but if we meet in the middle- like resonance? But we're already- no," she muttered, squinting off over his head as if there was an entire horizon laid out for her to see, instead of simply just walls and curtains. "Um, well, we can- no, that's not it. Before I was asleep. But all we need is- yeah. Yeah. Okay." She blinked and he saw her come back to earth, felt her fizzle back to awareness through their linked souls.

"Got something?" he asked, lifting a few fingers to see that the bleeding had slowed. He wished fervently for bandages and tried, as always, not to notice the thin silvery scars that spiderwebbed around her legs, barely visible in the paleness of her skin. The Academy gave out massive med kits stocked to the brim with everything imaginable and provided free health insurance to boot, but everyone got scarred eventually. It was inevitable. Maybe she hadn't ever been at death's door yet, like he had, but that definitely didn't mean she never got injured.

She nodded decisively. "Yep. I think so anyway. We need to resonate, as high as we can, and then I want us to play a song together. Instead of just you amplifying my wavelength and sending it back to me, we'll both amplify each others at the same time. You in here-" she tapped a single key on the piano she was leaning against- "And me in there, on that piano, we'll leave the door open." She pointed to the door opposite them. "Two pianos, two of us... It should give us enough juice to try and change something here, without either of our souls getting hurt. We're going to blend ourselves together into one song."

He frowned, trying to follow her logic. "So we're just going to turn into one big blob of a soul? Isn't that exactly what would have happened before, if you'd eaten my soul? Bad, right? I don't get it."

She sighed, tapping another key randomly. He winced. "We're not going to completely mix. We're not going to lose ourselves. We're going to, um, work together in way that sounds good. Like, accentuate each other? Um-" she struggled for words.

"Ugh. Harmonize?" he suggested, making a face at her ignorance.

She snapped her fingers gleefully. "Yes!"

"Oh Death," he hissed despairingly, letting his head fall forward against her knee. "Maka, you can't even play the piano. You are the most musically crippled person I've ever met. Do you have any idea how long it takes to learn to play the piano?"

"I don't want us to play anything fancy," she said, looking a bit hurt, even though they both knew it was the truth. "Just something easy. I don't think it needs to be complicated. We just have to do it together. We have to add our wavelengths together so we can influence your soul together. I think if you're helping me it won't hurt you like it did before."

He sighed dismally into her skin. She twitched. He twisted around to nibble at the impossible softness of the back of her knee, and she stretched her leg out, toes curling, the piano giving voice again as she hit more keys. "If it's so hard to learn shouldn't we get started?" she asked, voice a little husky.

He gave her leg one final nuzzle and nip and stood up. "Fuck. Yeah. Guess so," he said plaintively. Only the thought that he could keep touching her for as long as he wanted once they were free of the Black Rooms and had kicked the little ogre's ass all over Nevada gave him the strength to tear himself away. They both watched as he took his hand away from her thigh. The bleeding had mostly stopped, so they sat down at the piano and prepared to get to work.

He spread her fingers and settled them on the keys, about to start teaching her the notes, but then he stopped, a little taken aback by the sudden intensity of his own heart. She was so warm next to him, so alive and young, and that protectiveness gripped him again. She made him feel the same as she was, she washed away the twisted darkness of his thoughts and the cynicism he lived by. With her he felt normal, like a good person, someone who mattered and was useful; it was such a gift she'd given him. It hit him, all at once, feeling like sunlight in winter. "How did I get so lucky, meister Maka Albarn?" he asked, hands still on hers. Her eyes widened a little, lips parting, and he leaned in and claimed them.

* * *

They stood around a little aimlessly and stared at the door to the bar. Bright light spilled out from around it, illuminating the broken bottles, needles and trash littering the street, and music thumped loudly. "What a total dive," Black Star proclaimed finally, grimacing. "Why the hell would Soul come here? He doesn't even drink. He's not even twenty one!"

Tsubaki sighed a little. She didn't want to admit it, but she was disheartened and beginning to wonder if they'd ever catch up to Soul, or perhaps more accurately, whatever was possessing him. Since he disappeared from his apartment a month ago, they'd chased him all over the place. Thank goodness the Academy had a really fine intelligence network- but then again, how many white-haired, shark-toothed teenagers were there in the world? He hadn't tried that hard to stay hidden, anyway. She knew the only reason he wasn't all over the news was because they'd been right on his tail, cleaning up the bodies he was leaving as they tried to catch him. It seemed he was killing indiscriminately, civilians and kishin eggs alike, and for the life of her she couldn't figure it out.

She'd lost sleep over it; so had Black Star, lying wide-eyed and restless in the bed beside hers night after night, wondering what new evil had taken over Soul and Maka, and how to get their friends back. Soul was on the lam, Maka was lying comatose in a hospital bed in China, and even though her own cowardice shamed her she had worked very hard to think about it as little as possible. It just hurt too much. So now they were in California, in some tiny, ugly town, outside a tiny, uglier bar, hoping against hope that this time there would be good news and that this terrible mess could come to an end.

She glanced at her meister and bit her lip, not liking the hardness his green eyes had taken on lately. For a boy who claimed the worship of the whole world, he was actually very picky about his true friends, and what was happening with Soul and Maka had been rough on him.

"It's not really Soul, remember, Black Star?" she said quietly. He sighed, scowling as yet another drunk came stumbling out the door to the nasty little bar.

"Yeah, yeah, Stein says he got bodysnatched, whatever, but I don't know what else to call him now," he said grumpily. Tsubaki didn't take offense at his tone. She knew he wasn't mad at her, he was just worried, the same as she was. They both knew the real Soul was in there somewhere. He'd be fighting, so they had to fight too, here on the outside. She didn't really love being around Stein, particularly disliking the way his eyes would linger on her skin, but she'd be forever grateful for how quickly his sharp mind had figured out what must have occurred to Soul and Maka. It was a good thing that they'd trusted him with so many details about the black blood.

"I know," she said, trying to be reassuring. The ninja's face remained harsh, but he leaned over to bump his shoulder against hers. Beside them, Kid shifted a little, skateboard humming. He was standing on it as it floated a scant inch above the ground, having firmly refused to set his boots among the filth on the street. He'd been a bit of a pansy about it, actually, she'd thought secretly. Black Star had used a more vulgar term but the sentiment was the same.

"I believe we should get a move on," he said smoothly. "This is the closest we've gotten in a while. Perhaps we can gather enough intelligence to intercept his next move." They all knew Soul's body wouldn't be in there anymore, he never stayed in one place long enough for them to catch up, but mere hours ago, he _had_ been in there, and maybe someone would know something useful. She saw Patty cross all her fingers at once.

"Yes, of course," Tsubaki said quickly. She had to stifle a bow. Kid always had that effect on her, as nice as he was. It was something in his tone. "Should I-?" She moved towards the door, ready to go inside the bar and try to get some information. Black Star couldn't do it, he'd lose his head, start a brawl, and have the entire place out for his blood in a few minutes, and Kid looked positively nauseous already just from standing in the street.

Liz threw out her hand, though. "I got this, Tsubaki," she said cheerfully.

"Are you sure? I don't mind-"

"Nah, they'll eat you alive, sweetie. This is my turf." Liz gave a rather predatory grin and then proceeded to execute the most extraordinary transformation Tsubaki had ever seen. The blonde roughed up her hair, smudged her makeup, yanked down the neckline of her shirt, and pasted a sneering petulant pout on her pretty face. She cocked a hip and blew them all a kiss, somehow managing to make the motion mocking and suggestive at the same time. She looked jaded, older, and more than a little intimidating; all in all, she fit right into this awful place. "All right. Be back in a few." With that, she slithered into the bar, hooking a thumb in the belt loop of her jeans as she went and tugging them down a little until red lace peeked out above them.

"Duuuude," Black Star said, face switching rapidly between surprise and disgust. "What just happened?"

Kid started to answer, but Patty interrupted him, hopping up and down like an excited puppy and yanking on his coat. "Kiiid! I gotta go toooo!" she yelped, big blue eyes fixed on the door. The shinigami rolled his eyes, raising his hands to rub his temples.

"Patty, I'm sure Liz is more than capable of handling this herself," he began. She cut him off again, positively wriggling now.

"No no no! I gotta go! I'm the bait, I'm the worm on the hook!"

"Eh?" Black Star said, looking at her skeptically. "That sounds creepy." Tsubaki found herself heartily agreeing.

Patty sighed dramatically, bouncing on her toes. "Nooooooooo," she said as if his comment were the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "She pretends she's selling me, we go out back and then guns! Bang bang pow pow and then we get money!" She was waving her arms now and her voice rose higher and higher with each word.

Black Star continued to gape at her. She squinted at him, then rolled her eyes. "It's easier than random mugging cause we can pick our targets. We can guarantee a weak mark with enough money to make it worth it," she said, very slowly, enunciating her words carefully like she was speaking to a child. Tsubaki found her sudden change in tone to be very disconcerting; she didn't know if she'd ever heard Patty sound so... normal. She hadn't done cartwheels or started singing or anything. Apparently she took her criminal activities very seriously. Patty was generally so cute and sweet, full of giggly smiles and rainbows; the rare moments when she dropped into seriousness, mostly while threatening someone with terrible death, were made even more perturbing in contrast.

Kid, apparently giving up, flapped a hand. "Go on then, be careful," he sighed. Patty squeaked happily and was off like a shot before he even finished speaking, slipping through the doorway like an eel around an exiting crowd of leather-clad, tattooed men.

"Are you sure they'll be all right in there, Kid?" Tsubaki asked, feeling anxiety rise up in the pit of her stomach. The neon sign above them was painting colorful glints on the guns those men were all wearing, openly on display in their belts, and judging by the thinning of Black Star's lips, he'd noticed too. They all faded back into the shadows a bit, just to be safe. Dealing with angry civilians was always a delicate matter, and Tsubaki hated it passionately. They always decided to yell at her for some reason when Black Star broke things.

"I have utmost confidence in my weapons," Kid said to her, smiling a little. "This is their world far more than it will ever be mine. They know what they're doing, don't worry." He looked quietly proud for a moment, lips lifting a little, but his golden eyes swirled at the same time. It was an expression she couldn't quite read. "My girls are still the demons of Brooklyn, after all."

Tsubaki attempted a little smile back, trying hard not to worry. She was secretly glad she didn't have to go in such a place, though. She'd do it for Maka, of course, but it probably wouldn't have been enjoyable. Black Star patted her on the arm absently, tapping a big booted foot rapidly as he kept close watch on their surroundings. She was a little surprised to see how focused he was. He'd kept his voice mostly down, hadn't started any fights, or tried to convert any passerby into becoming his disciples.

She set her hand on his forearm, pretending she didn't enjoy the feel of his hard muscles shifting under her fingers, and he looked at her, brows lifting in question. "I promise you we'll get your brother back," she told him, sending a little warmth through the bond, wanting more than anything for that uncharacteristic ice in his eyes to melt.

He grunted, then relented, flashing her that broad beaming grin she loved so much. "We'll get Maka back, too. Pinky promise." He stuck out his little finger expectantly. She felt instantly relieved at the childish gesture.

She giggled and linked her own pinky finger with his, and they both leaned forward to bite their thumbs. "Promise!" they said in unison.

"You two are ridiculous," Kid sniffed dismissively, but his face was amused. Black Star scoffed at him good-naturedly.

"Shut it, zebra hair, you only wish you were as cool as your god!"

Kid smirked a little. "You know, Black Star, hasn't it ever occurred to you that I'm an _actual _god, and-" He broke off in the middle of his sentence, eyes going wide, focused on something behind them, further into the depths of the alley that ran behind the bar.

Tsubaki warped her bones into blades and chain on raw instinct, before her conscious thoughts could come up with any kind of plan, because the look on Kid's face was beyond anything she'd ever seen from him before. Black Star caught her easily and faded into the blackness beside a dumpster. She only had a moment to be proud of him for being so circumspect. Then she saw what Kid was looking at and was so embarrassed and horrified that she wouldn't have been surprised if her blade had actually flushed red.

Black Star grimaced, looking away, and Tsubaki was very glad she was in weapon form. She wouldn't have had any idea what to do with her features if she'd been flesh. Kid's skateboard began giving off scarlet sparks as he stared with narrow eyes at the shadowy figure of Liz, who was on her knees before a strange man, one hand working on his belt buckle as she looked up at him. He had a meaty fist wrapped in her long blonde hair.

Suddenly, just as Liz pulled down his zipper, he made a strangled choking noise and collapsed. Liz moved out of the way deftly and high-fived Patty, who'd materialized out of nowhere and was gripping a golf club, of all things. Where on earth had she gotten that? Tsubaki couldn't precisely hear what the sisters were saying, but their body language spoke of success. They bent down and stayed there for a moment, doing something, then picked the man up, Liz at his head and Patty at his feet, and began trudging back towards everyone else, staggering a little under his dead weight.

Tsubaki shifted back into humanity and chanced a swift glance at Kid. She was startled at what she saw. He looked as placid as ever, with no sign written on his features to tell of the snarl that had been there just moments ago.

"Well done," he said, tone congratulatory as his weapons stumbled up with their unconscious cargo. Tsubaki felt her mouth fall open. He was praising them? Obviously she was missing something. Black Star flicked her knuckles gently and she dropped her ponytail with a start.

"Got the bastard, we just gotta find a nice corner to stick him in for a while. Probably should tie him up. Patty, zip ties?" Liz said, looking as satisfied as a cat with cream, panting a little. She dropped the man unceremoniously, beaming at them all as if she'd just won the lottery. Patty clapped her hands and began to giggle madly, jumping up and down.

"Why do we need this bozo anyway, huh? Does he know something about Soul?" Black Star asked loudly, crouching down to poke obnoxiously at the man's face.

"He runs a flophouse down the road. Apparently a young man with white hair wandered in earlier today, got a room, and hasn't checked out yet," Liz said triumphantly. She pulled out a compact mirror and began swiping at her smudgy makeup, trying to fix it. "Man, what a dummy," she added, prodding her victim in the ribs with one boot.

"Wow," was all Tsubaki could get out.

"Seriously," Black Star added.

"Anyway," Kid interjected, voice just a shade tighter than normal, "That's wonderful information, but what exactly necessitated assaulting him Why would we need to tie him up?"

Liz smiled at herself in her mirror before closing it and slipping it back into her pocket. She reached into her other pocket and pulled out something large and shiny that glinted in the light leaking from the doorway. "Keys," she purred. "We frisked him and got keys to every room in the place. Apparently Soul paid this guy to ensure he wasn't disturbed." She chortled merrily, jingling the ring of keys like it was a tambourine. "If we put him somewhere we can case the place as long as we need to find Soul without worrying about being seen. No manager, no one to call the cops!"

"Which means Soul will be staying there for a while," Tsubaki whispered, focused only on Liz's words about Soul and ignoring the rest, feeling hot hope rise up into her throat. She shot a look at Black Star; he was in the middle of a rather intricate series of backflips, punctuated by joyous yodels.

"Yeah, yeah, so let's go!" Patty practically shrieked.

They finally had a lead, a solid one, and Tsubaki felt elation that she hadn't felt in this entire dreadful month of pursuing Soul. They were going to do it, going to save their friends, and everything would be all right again. The joy overflowed and came out her mouth as a loud, delighted whoop. She clapped her hands over her mouth, feeling her face turn red as everyone stared in surprise at her outburst.

"Attagirl," Black Star chuckled, standing on his head, smiling at her upside-down. "Let's go get 'em!"

* * *

**Author says: **Here ya go! :) It's getting a little away from the original feel of the story, I think, hopefully it's still okay.

I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewing and favorited. It means sosososo much to me! Thanks, everyone, and enjoy!

Let me know what you thought!

PS: I know in the manga, Wes has white hair just like Soul, but I felt like changing it. Sorry!


	11. Chapter 11

Soul watched her slim fingers skip across the keys and had to work very, very hard at not ripping her clothes off right there. "Almost," he told her. She was somehow managing to make Fur Elise sound like generic top forty crap and it was positively painful. Despite her ineptitude, she was still driving him crazy, perched there in front of the piano with her face screwed up in concentration; it was completely unfair how cute she looked. He'd tried to pick something relatively simple that wasn't a nursery rhyme, something with a small spread to fit her small hands, and very probably he'd gone too advanced for a total beginner, but he hadn't been able to resist. They had all the time in the world, after all. At least she'd figured out the pedals.

"Perfectionist." She sighed and began again, but he stopped her halfway.

"No. Look, you've got the muscle memory down, but you're just banging on the keys like- like it's a xylophone or something. You have to feel it or it sounds dead."

She put her head to the side like a bird and squinted at him, gnawing on her lower lip. "Feel it? As long as I play it right how are my feelings going to matter?"

"It does, trust me. Listen."

She sighed dramatically and laid her head on his shoulder while he launched into an original piece. "That's the one you played when we first met," she said suddenly. He planted a kiss on her forehead, pleased.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. Now listen again." It hurt in an almost physical way, but he dumbed down his hands, pulling away from the melody and the memory of tiny Maka's contemplative, challenging stare as she met his own for the very first time. She frowned into his shirtsleeve.

"It sounds funny."

"Yeah. That's the difference. You have to feel it."

"But it doesn't mean anything to me! I can't do emotional junk if I'm concentrating on where my fingers go!" she said, getting dangerously close to a whine.

He plunked his forehead down on the ivories in frustration. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you, Maka, but I really don't think we'll be able to resonate like we need to if the only thing in your brain is the mechanics of it all. It won't work."

"How do you know?" she asked challengingly, crossing her arms. He turned his head to blink at her.

"When we do Witch Hunter, I'm not just playing to amplify your wavelength. I'm thinking about stuff. I have to be thinking about the right things or nothing happens. It's a - well, a soul thing, I guess. I don't know. Doesn't work otherwise."

"What things?"

"Uh..." He looked up and away evasively. "Do you have a book?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"The first time we did Witch Hunter, in the cemetary fightin' Sid? I may or may not have been thinking about how much I enjoyed the fact that you were in a skirt." He said it very fast, cringed and flung his arms up for protection, but she just snickered and he gaped at her from behind his forearms. "You're not going to kill me for perving on you?"

"No," she giggled. "It's just- do you think about that kind of stuff when we're doing a group resonance? Because I don't think Black Star and Kid would be happy to know that!"

Soul put on a mock-offended face. "It's not about getting horny, stupid, it's about the feelings," he said loftily. She sobered and looked at him sideways.

"You had feelings back then?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I liked you, but I don't think I knew what it was."

She smiled, small and secretive, bangs falling over her face as she looked down at her lap. "Oh," was the only thing she said, but he caught the happiness buzzing through the bond and grinned to himself.

"Come on, try again. Hold onto some good feelings. Like I said, we've gone through it about a bajillion trillion times, you have the movements memorized. Just disconnect from your hands." She shot him an impish look as he fell into teacher mode, but complied, taking a deep breath. He slid off the piano bench and stood behind her.

"What are you doing?"

He put his hands over her eyes, ignoring her growl of displeasure. "Play it."

"I can't play it if I can't see. We're not all virtuoso prodigies, Soul."

He didn't move his hands. She had it down, though she didn't believe it; even now her hands were poised correctly to begin the movement. It had taken what was probably days in real time, but she had it. He pushed some love at her and she latched on greedily; it was almost unconscious for them now, like holding hands before a fight. "You've got this. Play it."

He felt her lashes fluttering against his palms, and she hesitated, mild nervousness bleeding through their link, which he found adorable, because she wanted to please him. She started, but it was still robotic, and he stopped her almost immediately with a slight shake to her head.

"I tried, I did, I was thinking about good stuff," she whispered.

"I know."

"It's just-"

"Spirit."

"Yeah. All the time. I'm not to the point yet where it doesn't hurt," she said softly, swallowing hard. Her brows knotted together under his fingertips as she leaned her head back against his chest. She actually felt bad for still hurting, felt guilty for not being over it yet, and she couldn't even see how ridiculous it was.

"Hmm. S'okay," he soothed, heart twisting at the blatant misery in her voice. He petted her cheekbone absently with the pad of his thumb, and she sighed, turning her face to nuzzle into his palm. A faint chime sounded in his head, mixed with a stream of deep, shivering notes. He thought of Paris, of sultry music creeping into his head as he whispered to her, and inspiration struck him. "Play," he ordered, shifting his hands so that he covered both her eyes with one and settling the other on the smooth silken curve where her neck met her shoulder. He lowered his lips to her ear and the dark melody came faster and faster through the link. "Play."

"Play?" she sighed. He drew a tooth along her earlobe.

"Play," he agreed throatily, free hand wandering up to twine in her hair. She breathed out shakily and her hands began to move. He pulled gently on her hair, getting it out of the way, and moved his attention to the nape of her neck, tracing the bumps of her spine with his tongue. She swallowed, hard, and Fur Elise shifted further towards beautiful, in harmony with the chimes in his head. "Good girl," he rumbled into the side of her throat, following the praise with a nip to her collarbone. She shook sweetly against him, clamping her jaw, and the piano gave voice to the sounds she wouldn't. It was good enough for him, for now anyway. He let go of her hair and slid his free hand around her stomach to pull her more tightly to him, forcing himself to actually listen to her playing instead of just concentrating on the taste of her. She hit the last key and then froze like a startled deer.

"Good?" she asked shakily. He hummed approvingly into her skin. "Okay, can I look now?"

He thought about it, but didn't move his hand from her eyes. "No. I like you blindfolded."

"Soul Evans!" she said, attempting to scold, but it came out more like begging than anything angry. He chuckled and took his hand away, wanting to see the blaze in her eyes; she delivered, went above and beyond.

"I really, really want to get out of here," he informed her fervently.

"We will," she said confidently. "I have stuff to do."

Several lewd replies to that promptly crossed his mind, but his skull ached reflexively and he suppressed them. "That was good," he said judiciously. "Good-ish. Good enough. You're not going to keep playing once we get out, are you?"

"Never, ever again, I feel like my ears are going to fall off. And my fingers." she said apologetically. He sighed, a bit disappointed. Teaching her the notes, helping her learn his passion, had been a unique experience and he thought he rather liked it. Usually it was her teaching him- how to kick someone in the face and not fall down, how to use the quadratic equation, or where semicolons were and weren't supposed to go. "You're feeling all manly and smart," she said suddenly, giggling.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Shut up."

"You are smart, Soul," she answered, going from laughing to serious in the blink of an eye. He felt himself flushing and cursed silently to himself. "I mean, I know I'm bossy and overbearing and stuff sometimes, I don't mean to take over everything and drag you around, and- mmpf!"

He'd kissed her to shut her up. "Maka, I seriously don't care that your IQ's all humongous and shit. I like that you're smart. I love it."

"I'm not very girly," she told the floor, not looking at him. "I'm violent and titless and I'd rather read a book than go outside usually. And I don't get music. And you are music."

"Where's all this coming from?" She was so damn confusing. She did something neither of them had ever thought would happen, played the piano like she wasn't tone-deaf, and yet it sent her straight into a nosedive of self deprecation. "Also, titless? Really?" he added wryly "Nope."

"Compared to Tsubaki and Patty and everyone." She looked disheartened and wrapped her arms around herself, curling her toes. Little threads of apprehension and loneliness were leaking through their resonance, but he couldn't figure out why she felt that way so suddenly, and they needed to be absolutely together if this plan to escape the Black Rooms was going to work.

"Everyone's flat compared to them. They're like... fuck, Maka, I like that you're violent because it means you don't take shit, and I don't have to babysit you. I like your tits. A lot." He took a moment to eye them appreciatively, and it was her turn to turn adorably pink. "It's cool that you read. It means I get the tv whenever I want. And outside sucks. You know I get allergies like a bitch. And you're my music. When we resonate, I'm thinking about you, Maka, I couldn't do it without you, so stop worrying, okay?"

When she looked at him, her eyes were so deep and shining green that his mouth went dry. Would she ever stop having this effect on him? He seriously doubted it. "So everything's going to be okay with us once we leave?"

"Promise," he told her seriously.

She took a deep breath, during which he snuck another happy glance at her chest, wondering how in the hell she couldn't be proud of those perky mouthwatering wonders. "Okay. Let's do this," she commanded. They took one of the tacky gilded candelabras, pinched out all the candles, and stuck it in one of the doorways to keep it open. It was disorienting gazing into two absolutely identical Black Rooms at once; except for the things they'd moved around themselves, there was absolutely no difference between them. He was pretty sure even the motes of dust were identical. The scarlet drapes fell in the same waves and the tiles were laid in twin patterns. He and Maka stood in that doorway for a long time, caught between the two rooms and in each other's arms. Finally they moved apart, settling in their respective piano benches and staring at each other through the open door.

"This is weird," she called. He caught the thin tightness in her voice and sympathized. He was nervous too, because if this didn't work, what in the hell would they do next?

"Yeah," he answered, twisting his hair distractedly and wishing for a headband. It was too long at the moment and he hated when it got in his eyes as he played. Wes had mocked him on more than one occasion for how much he flung his head around while playing, but he couldn't help it. Good music had a way of putting jitters in his bones. "Hang on a sec." He transitioned a finger into a small blade and yanked his bangs down before his eyes, going cross-eyed as he hacked at them. Finally they were sufficiently mowed down and he shifted his finger back to flesh. "Okay. Ready?"

She was goggling at him, open-mouthed. "That's how you cut your hair? Oh my god. So many things make sense now."

"Shut up. Why pay for a haircut?"

"Right. Wow. Do you shave like- never mind. Okay, count of three?"

"Love you," he said hastily, just in case.

She beamed at him and the link chimed happily. "Love you too. Okay. One. Two." Deep breath. "Three." They launched themselves into the song like they were diving off a cliff, desperately, prayerfully, left hands syncing beautifully through the arpeggios and feet perfectly together on the pedals. He fell into it, into the immense roar of their wavelengths and the warm caress of her soul against his, but he had enough conscious thought left to be amazed at how much it felt like they were flying.

This was lightyears past any levels they'd ever resonated at before. This was beyond Witch Hunt, or Maijin Hunt. This was a level of togetherness so profound that he couldn't tell anything anymore past his fingertips on the keys and her fierce joy in his head, couldn't remember his own name, but knew every nerve in her body. They twined together in a sparking crescendo of notes and rose up and away, into the heavens, rushing past Room after Room until there was nothing but a blur of black and red around them, faster and faster, until suddenly it stopped and electric agony erupted in his chest, spreading out to devour him.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, it hurt so bad that she started to cry, completely automatically. Then the tears made her eyes burn, which just made everything worse.

"Maka?" somebody said. They sounded absolutely terrified.

She attempted to turn her head, but it instantly became obvious that she was as weak and limp as a piece of cooked spaghetti. "Ow," she told whoever it was beside her, shutting her eyes again. It was very bright in here, and very white, which was admittedly a wonderful change from black and red, but still painful to look at.

"Maka, no, wake up," the person said. They shook her, which hurt.

"Ow," she said again, more vehemently, and cracked one eye. "It's bright." Why did her voice sound so croaky? She sounded more like a buzzard than a girl.

"Oh, wow. Don't go back to sleep." The person got up, a dark blur through her watery eyes, and moved away. A moment later the room darkened and she heaved a sigh of relief. They came back and did something next to her; she heard a series of beeps.

"Where am I?" she whispered, swallowing. Her throat felt raw.

"Here." A straw was applied to her lips and she sucked gratefully, cool water soothing her throat. They didn't let her have much, but she didn't protest, because she'd obviously been in some kind of serious fight and too much water or food was often a bad thing while recovering from getting knocked out. "You're in the hospital. In China."

"China?" she said in confusion. She opened her eyes wider and squinted. "Oh. Delun?"

"Yes," he said. She blinked and stared up at the ceiling, which was just as bleached as everything else. It reminded her of something- "Soul! Oh my god, Soul, is he here? What happened? Give me a phone!" She tried to sit up, ignoring Delun's frantic words, until finally he physically held her down. She was as weak as a baby bird, anyway, and as her head started to clear in the wake of panic she had a growing suspicion that her body had been lying in this bed for a really long time. Her first clue was her overwhelming weakness and the foul taste in her mouth, but the catheter trailing over the edge of the bed and the IV stuck in her arm spoke volumes too.

A nurse came in then and fluttered over her, speaking in Chinese to Delun, rapid-fire and incomprehensible. "Maka, you need to calm down, okay?" he told her.

She whimpered but fell back onto the pillows. Just that small effort had exhausted her. The nurse, a round-faced older woman who looked very impatient, gave her a quick once over, checked the machines and wrote some things down. Maka bore it because she really had no choice. "Delun. Delun, I need a phone right now," she said as loudly as she could, which wasn't very loudly at all.

He rubbed his temples and answered something the nurse said absently before responding. "You've been in this bed for a month. You need to get checked out. You've been in a coma, and your first reaction is to get up? Seriously? You are crazy. I knew it."

"Phoooooone," she hissed, wincing as the nurse picked up her leg and poked the sole of her foot. "Ow."

"No, look, you need to just relax and let the hospital people-"

"No!" she groaned. "I have tubes in places I really don't want tubes, Delun, and I can't get out of this stupid bed, so you need to get me a phone so I can make sure my partner is all right."

He waffled. "I don't know, you really-"

"My partner," she whisper-wailed, knowing it would reach him better than anything else she could say. He understood the compulsive overwhelming need to take care of your partner. She saw it on his face. "My partner, please, I just need to call a few people. Please. Just let me try to make sure he's safe and then I'll do whatever the nurse lady wants. Please." The tears came back. She felt hollow without Soul's wavelength touching hers, without his presence next to her. A month. They'd only been in the Black Rooms for a month, but it had been far longer to them. It had felt like eons, endless time with no one there but him, and now there were people everywhere, talking and walking past the open door to her room, and the noise of cars outside, and this strange nurse touching her- it was too much. She squinched her eyes shut, not caring for once about the tears that were squeezed out, and tried very hard to control her breathing.

"Okay. Fine," he said finally. "Once she's done checking you out. They've been feeding you through a damn tube and you- augh. Okay." She opened her eyes and squinted at him. He looked very tired, five o-clock shadow peppering his long jaw. His clothes were wrinkled like he'd slept in the chair next to her bed.

"Have you been here a while?" she finally said, a bit awkwardly, as the nurse pulled her right eyelid wide open and shone a light that might as well have been the actual sun right into it.

He shifted a little before sitting back down. One leg started fidgeting instantly. "On and off. Azusa threatened to murder me in various creative ways if I didn't keep you safe."

"Oh." She thought about that, thought about reassuring him that she wouldn't die like Mei Lien had, but couldn't quite get the words out around the ball of fear in her throat. She was touched that he'd been so worried, and felt bad for scaring him, but more than anything she needed to hear Soul's voice and know that he was safe. "A month. Really?"

"Yeah." He was quiet for a while after that until the nurse finally said something to him, very sternly, and they spoke for a few moments. "She says you can talk, but not for very long. The doctor's going to come by and check you out in like, half an hour, so make it quick." He opened his phone and poised his finger over the dial.

It took her a moment, but when she tried to reach for the phone and failed miserably she figured out that he was going to dial for her. Who should she call? Lord Death? She should have asked for a mirror. Then again, he almost certainly already knew she was up. He always knew things. She finally settled on Tsubaki, because Tsubaki always answered her phone unless she was literally in the middle of a battle. "Seven seven five. Eight one three. Two four three four," she told him, thanking everything holy that she somehow remembered it, because she didn't see any of her stuff in this drab, empty room, much less her cell phone. Azusa was probably guarding all her things. Hopefully, anyway. Delun punched it in with a dour expression and then held his phone to her ear.

"I'll pay your for the long distance," she had time to tell him before Tsubaki's gentle voice came on the line, so familiar and sweet that it immediately made her horribly homesick. She thought she tasted tea.

"Hello, this is Tsubaki Nakatsukasa." It was said tiredly, slowly.

"It's me. It's Maka."

Silence. Then, breathlessly, "Maka? Really?"

"Yeah. Hi." Maka was grinning like a moron and didn't care, even when Delun lifted an eyebrow at her expression.

Tsubaki's voice was tinny and there was a noticeable delay from the distance, but the relief came through loud and clear even so. "Maka! Everyone, it's Maka, she's awake! She's awake! I'm putting you on speaker!" There was a click, and then a raucous mix of voices.

"Maka! Hiiii hi hi hi!"

"How are you feeling?"

"We missed you!"

"Oh, this is such good news, I needed this!"

"Your god has answered your prayers! Bow down!" Something broke audibly.

She kept grinning, overwhelmed by the long-distance love pouring into her ears. At last the phone clicked again and Tsubaki came back on the line.

"When did you wake up? Oh, Maka, I was so worried about you! I was so scared! I'm so glad you're better! Are you coming home?"

"Slow down," Maka answered, laughing a little. "I'll be home as soon as they let me out of this stupid bed. I literally just woke up, me and Soul did this resonance thing- it was wild- have you guys found him? Is he okay? Is he with you?" Tsubaki said nothing for so long that Maka pulled back to check the screen, to see if the call had been dropped. "What's the news? Where's Soul?" she prodded, feeling icy fear coil in her chest.

"Is there anyone with you?" Tsubaki said at last, very, very quietly. "You're not alone?"

"Oh no. What happened? Where is he?" She suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Maka, I don't- don't leave again, all right, he's alive, but-" The other girl broke down, then, and Maka listened to her sob numbly. Delun was staring at her, but thankfully didn't say anything, just held the phone faithfully to her ear. She gripped the bedcovers as hard as her weak fists would allow, to keep from floating away.

Finally, Kid spoke, obviously having taken control of Tsubaki's cell. "Hello, Maka," he said gravely. She could almost picture him, one hand raised to cover his stripes, as he often did when upset. "You're going to want to prepare yourself."

"I'm prepared," she managed, thought it was a full-on lie. She was dizzy and more afraid than she'd ever been and most assuredly, not prepared. She just kept thinking about bodies under sheets and the horrendous howls of sirens.

"Soul was taken over by something else, as I'm sure you know. Stein theorized that it was the black blood, but- anyway. We followed his body and and moved on it at a motel in California. He fought us, and he was much stronger than we'd anticipated. He hurt us. We were obviously trying to take him prisoner, but then something happened- he fell over, had some kind of seizure, and he was having a conversation with himself." Kid paused. He was speaking in a measured way, clearly and precisely as always, but the wails of Tsubaki and Patty in the background were an all too apt accompaniment. She felt a little like wailing herself.

"He was probably arguing with the little demon. Go on," she said faintly.

He sighed raspily. "Then it appears the demon took over again for a moment. It took Soul's body off a roof."

Spots fizzed and popped in front of her vision. "A- a roof?"

"Yes. He's been in and out of consciousness ever since. Multiple broken bones, um, he had surgery for some internal bleeding. A severe concussion. This occurred at about eleven o'clock last night."

"Shit."

"Quite."

She wished she were back in a coma. "Has it- has it only been Soul?"

"Are you asking me if the demon has made a reappearance?"

"Yes." Maka was so grateful for Kid in that moment. Others would probably have thought he was being cold, but he wasn't, not at all, he was just being what she needed. He was so strong, so competent, and it gave her the strength to survive this without dissolving into screams.

"No, when he's spoken it's only been him, nothing else. Stein has been keeping a close eye on him and his soul and has verified this. He's mostly been asking for you."

"Are you all with him?"

"Of course." She heard a muffled curse, as if someone had poked him, and then, a bit stiffly, "We love you both."

"Stay with him. Please. I just- my muscles are all floppy, I- I'll be there as soon as I can. Okay? If he wakes up again tell him I love him and I'm fine and I'll keep playing the piano if he wants." She was shaking from head to toe, but surprisingly her voice was fairly steady.

"All right. You sound as if you need rest. I will call you at this number if anything changes, all right?"

"Okay."

"Okay. Stay safe, Maka, we think he'll make it. He's fighting." With nothing else possibly left to say, he hung up, and she gazed blankly at the phone. Delun shut it delicately and resumed his staring.

The doctor came in and did things that she accepted passively. The more she cooperated, the faster it would be over. She opened her mouth, said 'aah', and used Delun to translate the doctor's questions and her own answers. Yes, she felt fine, no head pain, no, no other pain, and yes, she knew what year it was. She told Delun to ask him when she could leave three times, because she kept forgetting if she'd asked yet or not.

At last, the doctor left. She rolled her face in Delun's direction. "Can I go?" she pleaded.

He cringed a little, sticking a thumbnail in his mouth and gnawing on it. Judging by his expression, she must really look like hell. "Maka, no, not yet. They won't discharge you, you still need medicine and nutrition and stuff. And physical therapy."

She jerked and twitched her puppet-hand over at him until she could hook a finger in the collar of his shirt and yank him closer for more effective threatening. "If you don't help me get out of here I swear to Death I will pull every favor I have to get you stuck with nothing but crazy American interns for the rest of your godforsaken life," she barked, baring her teeth at him. His eyes widened. "I know a lot of people. Obnoxious people. People who would just looove to come to China and force a certain meteor hammer to rearrange all the pebbles in a garden symmetrically. An entire garden, Delun, and he'll make you measure the pebbles to the hundredth decimal place. Do you want that?"

"No," he whimpered.

"Good answer. Now find me a wheelchair."

* * *

The plane was the hardest part, because sneaking out of the hospital, in addition to involving a tense few minutes crammed in a supply closet while her doctor chatted with a nurse, meant she had nothing but the papery gown on her back. They'd stolen a sheet from the bed to drape over her, but it didn't help much, and she'd gotten blood on it when she'd pulled out the IV from her arm.

In addition to that, she hadn't even realized that she was penniless until she tried to buy a ticket. Her wild appearance, the wheelchair, and scattered attitude would get her locked up by security if she didn't work things out. She waved to the airline attendant at the counter. "Oh, so sorry, just a moment!" Delun took the hint and pushed her away, out of earshot.

"I am poor. My body is mostly ramen by now because it's all I eat. I am so not paying for you to go to Nevada," he said immediately.

She was mildly offended that he'd think she was such a mooch. "No, I know. I wish I had my paperwork, if it's an emergency we can charge it to Lord Death's account," she said in frustration. Under normal circumstances, she would just call him in a bathroom mirror and have him send a reference to the airline, but these weren't normal circumstances. She knew her Lord, she knew that since Spirit died he'd been keeping a close eye hole on her, and right now he would do nothing but order her tied down in a hospital bed.

Delun drummed his thumbs on the handles of her chair. "Hmm. Sucks." He walked around her and flopped down on an uncomfortable-looking chair, slinging his massive backpack down on the ground in front of him and diving into it. She hadn't questioned the huge contraption when they snuck out of the hospital; she'd just assumed that it was clothes and things, since he'd obviously been staying at the hospital, thanks to Azusa's threats. As he worked his way deeper into the bag's mysterious depths, a heap of clothes and toiletries piling up around him, she caugh various muffled exclamations and started to get a little nervous.

"Delun, we don't have time for this," she said forlornly. By 'this' she meant everything; being broke, being stranded half a world away from her Soul, who was lying helpless, defenseless against Stein's nefarious scalpel, and possibly dying. If he died and she wasn't there- she leaned forward and put her face against her knees as her guts gave a familiar wrench. The strength she'd manufactured from nothing was entirely gone now, and she was back to being as boneless and floppy as Jello. If they didn't get on a plane soon so she could pass out, she'd probably end up back in a coma.

Delun emerged at last from his backpack, looking triumphant. He held up two shining black beauties. "Here. Boots. One of your shirts, sweats. You can borrow a pair of my socks, too." She covered her mouth with her hands, unable to breathe a word. He paused, squinting worriedly at her. "Uh- are you not- I mean, I kept a change of clothes for you because I didn't think- I mean, hospital gowns are awful, Mei Lien always hated them, and I forgot earlier because we were busy escaping and anyway you blended in better in a-"

"Waah!" she shrieked joyfully before snatching the boots. She promptly dropped them, because they seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in her withered arms, but she only wanted what was in them. Delun scooted away a little as she plunged her hand inside them. "Don't look at me like that, you," she told him, pulling her hand out and waving her Spartoi identification card at him.

"In your boot?" he said faintly. "Don't you have a wallet?"

"I wear a skirt, where would I put one?" she said, panting as she pulled on his overlarge socks and worked her limp feet into the boots, beaming from ear to ear. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Right. You're crazy, I forgot."

"Why didn't you give me this earlier?"

"I don't snoop through your stuff! I didn't know it was there!" He shoved the scattered mess around him back into his backpack and wheeled her back over to the airline attendant. Judging by her facial expression, big leather boots under a hospital gown weren't helping her impression of Maka's sanity.

Maka grinned and slid her ID card onto the counter. "Emergency ticket required, please, on Lord Death's account. Academy business."

The woman's false smile slid off her face like syrup, replaced with the slightly nervous, slightly curious look most civilians wore when confronted with Lord Death's troops. Maka had seen much worse reactions, though, depending on the country or how much property got destroyed during a fight; once she and Soul had been pelted with garbage after they knocked down a bridge in Mexico. This lady just twitched a little, though. "Of course," was all she said. "Sign here, please."

Maka did so, and once she got the ticket in her hand, she promptly fell asleep, wilting onto the handle of her wheelchair for the hour and twenty minutes it took for the security check of her flight to start. She only woke up when Delun poked her. "Juice," he said, folding her hands around something cold. She was a little surprised to find that she was ravenously, incredibly, unbelievably famished and latched onto the straw.

"Mmm!" she hummed gratefully. It was some kind of fruit juice, sweet and refreshing. She could practically feel all the vitamins and energy plumping up her withered, useless muscles. Delun just smiled at her tolerantly, tapping his fingers on his cell phone.

Then something occurred to her. "Oh. Oh no. How am I going to get on the plane?"

"With your feet?"

"I can't walk!"

"Have you tried? Or has it just been funny to you, watching me shove you around?"

She took a final pull on the straw, sighing mournfully as it slurped up the last drops of juice in the cup, and put her hands on the armrests of her chair. She felt better, actually, fueled by juice and sleep and her burning impatience to get to Soul, but it appeared her legs didn't share her optimism, because they promptly dumped her onto the grimy linoleum.

"Augh,ew," she mumbled, rolling over like a fish out of water and exceedingly grateful that she'd squirmed into the change of clothes Delun had kept for her before falling asleep. That had been hard enough, but she'd been able to do it sitting down, at least. "I can't. Maybe they can-"

"Get up, crazy. Your partner's in the damn hospital and you want to roll around on the floor?" Delun said sternly. He glared at her, scratching the black scruff on his cheek. "You're better than that. He needs you. At least you get the chance to do something. He's going to need you running at a hundred percent. Anyway, they did physical therapy stuff to you, moved your legs and the like. So get up." He leaned back and folded his arms deliberately behind his head, ignoring her ridiculous sprawled position on the floor and making it very clear that he wasn't going to help her up.

She swallowed tightly. He was right. It was time for she and Soul to get back to themselves, back to the old duo that was the bane of kishin eggs across the planet. He needed her, and he'd helped her in the Black Rooms, taught her to play the piano despite her endless fits and tantrums and despair at ever catching on, so now it was her time to help him, even if she was sad, even if she missed her dad- it didn't matter. She still had things to do.

She shut her eyes and thought about how very, very badly she wanted to curl up in his arms, more than anything in the entire world, more than she'd ever wanted anything her whole life, and then latched onto her chair and hauled herself into a painful semi-crouch. Delun raised an eyebrow and she glowered at him before straightening her knees. "There. Standing," she told him huffily. Admittedly, she was still bent over at a nearly 90-degree angle and clutching the handles of her wheelchair for dear life, and her legs were shaking like a foal's, but it still counted.

"Nice," he told her. "Don't nosedive. Go get in line, you'll be fine, you'll be sitting back down on the place soon anyway."

She looked at him, this tall gangly Chinese boy who'd stayed by her bedside after only being her partner for a few days, after she'd bled black blood and almost entirely lost her mind, and all the things she wanted to tell him piled up together in her mouth and got stuck. He grinned, though, and seemed to know what she was trying to figure out how to say.

"It's okay. I'm fine. I'm gonna go bring Mei Lien some flowers, so get going. Call me and lemme know how your partner is, all right?" She nodded and he heaved himself up, giving her a stilted little wave and disappearing into the crowd, almost a head taller than most of them. She watched him walk away, feeling bemused and unexpectedly sad to see him go, and then began wobbling drunkenly over to the security checkpoint, thinking desperately about Soul and praying to Lord Death for a strong tailwind and clear skies.

* * *

**Author says: **Hey guys! I've gotten some comments about how annoying Maka is, with her constant guilt and weakness, and I just wanted to say _I totally get it_. She's even irritating to write sometimes, but after all, it's barely been a month (real time, outside the Black Rooms) and that's not long at all when dealing with severe trauma. Anyway, the next chapter will be the last one, so prepare yourselves! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for reading. It was hard to write and I don't like it much, but it was needed to move the story along.

Also: I already have my NEXT story planned. It's going to be a SoMa circus AU, set in a time period modeled after the roaring '20s. :D I am SO EXCITED to write it, guys!


	12. Chapter 12

Everything hurt. Everything, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, hurt. Every nerve had been flayed open and carefully painted with acid. There were spots where the pain was more concentrated, but mostly it was all over, a watercolor wash of red-hot pain. He was so empty. Someone had taken him and hollowed him out, left him emptier than a pumpkin at Halloween. There was nobody with him. No madness was singing in his veins, counterpoint harmony to his secret thoughts, and no ogre was hissing in the depths of his brain. Maka was gone too, and after being together for so long, he was having a hard time thinking at all, beyond simply being lonely. It felt like he'd been sleeping for a very long time, but whenever he swam up to the top of it all, poked his head out and raised his face to the white light and the voices he couldn't quite understand, his agony spiked and pulled him back down.

The voices were always there, but they were outside of him, so he didn't listen. He caught his name a lot, but beyond that, they were just white noise interspersed with a few things that sounded distantly like sobs. Once, when he was above the thick darkness for a long time, he thought he managed to ask them for Maka, but he wasn't sure. He wanted her, though, yearned for her touch.

He slept again, and stored up his energy carefully, until finally he could break the surface again and open his eyes, and there she was. He closed one eye, to conserve energy, and studied her. It was like seeing her for the first time. She was in plaid flannel sleep shorts and a t-shirt he recognized as his own, and her pigtails were messy. She'd probably slept on them. She was asleep now, head propped on the bed facing him, and her hands limp in her lap, palms facing up, beautifully relaxed, curled like lotuses. He could see the callouses on them, darker ridges and bumps blossoming on her pale skin, and it was like he'd branded her, because she'd earned those callouses by wielding him. He loved it. He wanted to feast on her neck and leave a mark there, to match, to tell the entire world that she was his and his alone. He moved his gaze to the scabbed slash on her thigh, the one that had opened in the Black Rooms and given them the key to escape. It would be a beautiful scar. As much as he hated seeing her scars, this would be one that they could look at fondly together, because they'd moved past it in perfect synchronization.

"Mmm," he hummed raspily, trying for her name. She didn't raise her head, just opened her eyes immediately, green and lush, speaking of safe places and home to him.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she said promptly. They reached out for each other at the same time, souls almost sighing as they meshed together. Her love was loud and earnest and a little pushy inside his head, and he gave a snorting rasp meant to be a chuckle. She felt like an overeager puppy, clambering all over the resonance wriggling with grateful glee.

The way she was smiling at him was like a sunrise. He widened his open eye just a fraction, asking. "You don't remember," she stated after a moment, reading him like one of her books. "Okay. I woke up in China, I'm fine, just kind of wobbly from lying around, you know? Delun helped me escape. We had to dodge the nurses like ninjas, you should have seen it. Totally James Bond. Uh, and I called Tsubaki and she told me they trailed you to a hotel, and were trying to bring you back with them. And it must have happened right when we played the piano together, because they said you started arguing with yourself, with the ogre I'm guessing, and he- um..." She trailed off for a moment, grimacing, and then inched to the edge of her seat to delicately settle her face in the crook of his neck. "He made your body jump off a roof," she whispered. "But the doctor told me you're stable. You should be okay, nothing permanent. Concussion, broken bones, you had an internal bleed but that was a few days ago, they patched it up. You'll be fine."

He considered that, closing his eyes again and breathing deep. She smelled like soap, fresh and clean and all things wonderful. "Ow," he finally settled on. Falling off a building- that would explain the obnoxiously white casts currently immobilizing his left arm and left ankle. He could guess which side he'd landed on. Death, but his head hurt. That would be the concussion. Breathing was painful too, which meant he'd probably at least cracked a rib or two. All in all, though, he felt pretty lucky to be awake and not crippled. Waking up with his sleepy adorable meister beside him, and in the real world no less, was just the icing on the cake.

"Yeah. Ow," she said against his neck, a hint of smile in her voice. She was doing something through the bond, and whatever it was, it was soothing his throbbing cranium. "That's interesting. Is that helping?"

"Yep." One-word answers were the easiest. It felt like she was pouring cool water on his bruised brain, sending her wavelength into his in relaxing little trills not unlike a lullaby.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked. He grunted in confusion. "You wouldn't have been hurt like this if I hadn't ran away. My anti-madness wavelength would have kept it under control."

"No," he told her. "Would have happened at some point. M'not mad."

She exhaled roughly like she'd been expecting a scolding, and nevermind the fact that simply speaking in a whisper was taxing on him right now, much less shouting. "Are you sure? I'm so sorry you're hurting, Soul, I hate this."

"Not again," he groaned. "No guilt. Partners. Okay?" He sent as much of himself at her through the bond as he could, let her see how absolutely silly he thought she was for feeling like this was her fault, that he didn't blame her at all. It was part of their meister-weapon relationship. Things happened, people got hurt, and guilt would just weigh them down. She swallowed and he heard gentle chimes before she pulled back and smiled at him, a thank-you and a promise of some kind, one that he couldn't fully read.

"Okay." She kept smiling at him, like she didn't even know what her face was doing, and he cricked the corner of his mouth up to return it. He thought about what she'd said and wished he'd been able to be with her when she woke up, back in China. They'd made sort of a ritual of it, being at each other's bedside whenever an injury was dealt, dating back to her guilt-ridden vigil over him when he'd taken Ragnarok to the chest. Right now she looked weary to the marrow, blurs of blue-black exhaustion shading the skin under her eyes, and the rest of her overly pale. He squinted and saw the fading pin-prick scab on her hand that spoke of an IV. He reached over and set a finger on it, covering it, not wanting to picture her caged in a bed for so long, motionless and still. Did he want to know what exactly that goddamn ogre had done with his body, while he'd been wandering the Black Rooms? No, probably not. Definitely not. Not yet, anyway. Black Star would tell him later, when the time was right. He had vague flashes of blood and shrieking laughter lurking way down, but they could wait. Right now was a time for happiness.

She nestled closer, being very careful of all his many bruised bits. He coughed and nearly screamed, because there was something on his lower stomach that really, really hurt. "Surgery stitches," she muttered, looking mournful.

"Ow," he said again. It seemed apt. She stroked his hair back from his forehead, touch feather-light.

They sat there for a while, just basking in each other. "I want to keep playing the piano," she said eventually.

"Cool," he said softly. He didn't think he had ever in his life been so content.

"I'm serious. You'll have to be patient, though. I don't think my fingers out here will remember what they learned in there."

"Maybe. Love you."

"Love you too. Want anything? Ice cream for your throat? Stein will be by soon to check on you."

"Nooooo," he creaked despairingly.

She snickered a little and petted his ragged bangs, still far too long here in the real world, sympathetically. Half the dread students had of getting injured was really about being subject to the whims of the Academy's resident mad scientist. "Yes. Sorry. I'll be on scalpel watch, don't worry. I won't leave."

He sighed, blinking at the window, which was flung wide open, odd for a hospital. "Black Star...?"

"Has been popping in through the window every few hours, yes, he'll probably be by soon. Everyone will. Are you too tired? I can beat them off. I have a book."

"Oh god. No chops."

"Not for you. Not till you heal, anyway," she said tolerantly.

He grinned weakly. "So I can say anything?"

She withdrew her head from his neck just long enough to squint warningly and waggle a finger. "Don't push it." Then she promptly returned to her previous spot. He caught her shifting uncomfortably a few times from her awkward half-seated position and pulled weakly on her shirt. Well, his shirt, but he didn't think he'd be getting it back any time soon.

"Up," he insisted when she tried to demur, pointing at his casts, but after all, she could lay on the other side, and he was basically immobilized, and she was small. "Up." She sighed and gave in, swinging her legs up onto the bed like he was made of glass and curling close beside him. They put their foreheads together. He touched his nose to hers; she giggled.

"We did it," she mused sleepily.

"Yeah."

"We're badass."

"Yeah."

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, haltingly. "Is it all gone? The madness, the black blood, the ogre?"

He took a moment, rummaged around in his head to make sure, but really he already knew. He knew by the roaring emptiness he'd felt in his medicated dreams. Whatever that powerful new resonance was that he and Maka had done in the Black Rooms, their spiritual duet had incinerated that ogre, burned away all the black blood from him. He would know if it was left. He had enough natural madness in him that the artifical type could never hide. "Yes. Gone, very gone." It felt strange to say. For half a decade he'd lived with things so bad inside him that only Maka really knew their full depths, and their absence meant that now any terrible thoughts he had would be on his own head. It made him a little nervous, honestly.

But then, there was so much he wanted to do now; the future opened up with the same tantalizing potential as an empty highway in front of his motorcycle. He wanted to take Maka out to a fancy dinner, watch her sway and complain in high heels, to see her wriggle into something sparkly and elegant that she would hate, but would wear anyway, for him. He wanted to take her home and introduce her to his family, show her the very first place he ever played a show, and the piano he grew up with. He wanted to help her put her father to rest. He wanted to lie in bed with her, all day long and into the night. He wanted to go on missions to every corner of the world and clean up evil beside her. He wanted to write songs for her and with her. He wanted her and no one else, forever, playing alongside him, chiming her love into his soul. "Girlfriend?" is what all those wants distilled down into, a single scratchy question.

She smiled into his skin and nodded gently. They'd made it.

It was a blessing that Tsubaki had preceded Black Star into the window, because he would have entered in a flurry of shouts and well wishes and ruined everything. She managed to clamp a hand over his mouth as he dove past her before he could start shouting, though, and neither of the two peaceful sleepers in the hospital bed woke up.

Kid, Patty, and Liz blinked at them from their seats across the room. Kid lifted a dark eyebrow and nodded a greeting, apparently deciding not to comment on their unorthodox method of entry. Liz rolled her eyes and Patty just hugged her stuffed lion tighter, slouching down until the brim of her hat hid her face. Black Star, unable to stay pent up for long, licked Tsubaki's hand in retaliation and she let go, making a face.

"Ew," she told him, very, very quietly. He grinned triumphantly and stuck his tongue out at her, but then he took her hand and gallantly helped her down from the windowsill, as if she were a dainty princess rather than a fully-trained ninja and notorious weapon.

"Look at 'em, cuddling and shit. About time," he said, just as quietly, which was nothing short of a miracle. He pointed at the bed. Stein was hovering over the sleeping pair in a rather predatory manner, glasses gleaming as he peered at the heart rate monitor hooked up to a clip on one of Soul's fingers, poking forlornly out of a big white cast. Black Star had, of course, already defaced it yesterday with multiple copies of his signature and several inappropriate drawings.

"How is he?" she asked the doctor, deciding not to think about how sweet Black Star was being, because if she did that she'd turn red, and then he'd get that funny crooked smile, the one that made her toes curl, and then she wouldn't be able to think of anything all day long except how he looked shirtless.

Stein shrugged and see-sawed a hand in the air. "He's fine, he should be back to full consciousness once he wakes up. His soul's back at nearly full capacity. It's a shame, really," he sighed, adjusting his glasses again. "I had so many plans for him and that black blood."

"Stein, you're a monster. Get out," Liz hissed ill-temperedly, twirling a strand of her hair in an aggressive manner.

"Manners, young lady," Professor Stein said amiably, waggling a finger at her in mock sternness, but he stuck his hands in his moth-eaten lab coat and wandered out of the room all the same. The very fact that he left so easily told them all that Soul was indeed well on the road to recovery.

"They are pretty cute," Tsubaki whispered to her meister. Maka was pressed up against Soul's side, and his head was turned towards hers, both of them angled very close together. She had one hand twined in his hair, and her other hand was linked with his between their bodies. Soul was drooling, but somehow Tsubaki didn't think Maka would mind much.

Kid stood up with a yawn and flapped a hand. "I really don't think they're going to wake up any time soon," he murmured fondly. "Let's go. It's good to see him getting better." They all trooped out into the waiting room, and Black Star took even used the door this time, albeit not without a little protest, something about needing to practice his sneaking skills. Now there was a hopeless cause if she'd ever heard one. Tsubaki took one last glance at her sleeping friends and closed the door softly.

Sitting at a desk and nearly hidden in stacks of paperwork, Mira Nygus blinked at them from under several layers of bandaging that managed to be even whiter than her crisp nurse's uniform. "Still asleep?" They all nodded. "Good. He needs it. Well, she needs it too. Stein said he's doing much better. I'll tell them you came to visit, all right?"

Minds at ease now, they wandered through the streets for a while, talking randomly about nothing in particular. Black Star offered Tsubaki his elbow and she rested her hand on his arm, fighting one of those traitorous blushes. "Do you think they'll work? I mean, do you think Maka is okay? She was so different when we picked her up at the airport than she was when she left," she asked him.

He tilted his head consideringly. "Eh, I think so. They'll explain it to us eventually, but I think they really went through some shit while they were out, you know? She's figured some stuff out. She's on the downhill now, anyway."

She beamed at him. "Yes, you're right." Inspiration struck and she turned to the rest of the group. "Everyone! Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? And I can make something really good for dessert! Dango, maybe! Or pie!"

"Yes please!" Kid and Patti answered in enthusiastic unison. Black Star gave a great yodel and grabbed her up around the waist, swinging her around.

"Yes! Food! I am a very hungry god!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Across Death City, birds took startled flight. She smiled at him once he'd finally put her down. He was back to his old self, no question about it. With the whole group chattering happily together, and the empty spots of Soul and Maka soon to be filled, she felt for the first time like this awful nightmare was finally over. There would always be a storm brewing on the horizon, inevitable in their line of work, but as long as her friends were together she was pretty sure they'd soldier through.

"Okay. I need dessert ideas, guys, come on!" she said, smiling hugely at them all.

"Daiquiris?" Liz suggested with a lifted, perfectly plucked brow.

"Ice cream!" Patti gushed, eyes lighting up maniacally. Their meister rolled his golden eyes despairingly.

"Don't give her sugar," he begged, then turned on Liz, who was sniggering as her sister pouted. "Or alcohol! Whatever we make, let's make sure to save some leftovers for Soul and Maka tomorrow, all right? That hospital food is a sin."

"Good idea," Black Star said immediately. They all stopped to gape at him, because Black Star actually offering to save food instead of inhaling it as fast as possible was a huge rarity. "What? Boy needs to eat. He's gonna need his energy once he's healed up if you know what I mean." Here he waggled his eyebrows lecherously, thrusting his hips.

"Okaaay, let's go shopping!" Tsubaki broke in hastily, ushering him forward. Everyone followed together, young and happy, breath blossoming whitely in the cool fall air of their city.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

Maka wasn't next to him when he woke up, which he disliked immensely, and it wasn't until he groggily checked the calendar on his phone that he realized why. When he wandered into the kitchen, he caught her stretching for something on the top shelf, which was making her oversize shirt ride up in a very interesting way, exposing every inch of her long legs and some nicely toned ass to boot. He took a moment to enjoy, then went over to stand beside her. He didn't touch her, other than a peck on the lips good morning, because as much as he wanted to drag her back to bed caveman style, he had no idea how she'd be feeling on this particular date. He didn't see any books, but still. If he'd learned anything about his girlfriend, it was that she could conjure one anywhere at any time.

"Hey," she greeted him, waving the dark smoke curling up from her attempt at a pancake away from her face. He nudged her over with his hip and took over, turning down the burner and flipping the pancake deftly. Maybe he could still salvage this one. At least she'd made the batter right.

She watched him for a moment like she was thinking, and then poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. He frowned when she started to drink it black. "We out of creamer?" he asked.

"No," she answered after a moment, sitting down at the kitchen table. She'd let her hair grow and it was loose now, hanging in a muted gold sheet around her slightly absent expresion. "It just felt like a black coffee kind of day. You know?"

He did, even if he didn't drink the stuff. "Yeah."

"Love you. Thanks for rescuing breakfast."

"It's not like I don't have to time you try to cook."

"Shut up. I made you a cake for your birthday, didn't I, and it tasted okay. I can totally cook. Hey, Blair," she greeted as the cat wandered into the room, nose twitching delicately. With a soft crackle and a swirl of fragrant lavender mist, she was a woman, busty and semi-nude as always. She'd turned up back home about five months ago, spent a long time in silent vigil at Spirit's headstone, and then had resumed life as normal, though she'd seen which way the wind was blowing almost instantly and didn't hang all over Soul anymore. He was unbelievably grateful for that fact. It turned out Maka had a bit of a jealous streak in her.

"Hi, Maka. Hi, Soul," she chirped. She poofed back into a cat and jumped up on the table to peer into Maka's coffee cup. "If you don't want cream in your coffee you could share it, you know."

Maka rolled her eyes and got up to dig in the fridge, pouring a little puddle of cream into the saucer they kept in a corner for Blair. "You do realize dairy products aren't actually good for cats," she told her friend.

"Hmpf," Blair said, blinking up at them and shaking droplets of cream off her purple whiskers. "Girl's gotta have a treat every now and then. You of all people know that, Maka, right?" Here she paused to wink and steal a sly look at Soul's ass as he poured another pancake, giving up on the one Maka had originally burned. "At least, you sure sounded like you were indulging some cravings last night."

"I will chop you into next week," Maka said sternly. Soul, finally bothering to listen to the girls' conversation, glanced at her and was impressed when her face didn't flame up. It appeared she could finally allude to their sex life without hyperventilating or maiming someone innocent.

Blair just sneezed daintily, finished her cream, and then wandered off to torment someone else. She really was the same, except for the occasional faraway look in her eye and a habit of watching the sun set, something she'd never done before. He knew Spirit had liked to do that, though; he'd often taken Maka up on the roof of the Academy to view it when she was younger and they were still trying to hash things out. Cats and witches were both resilient things, and Blair, being both, had truly landed on her feet, even though she hadn't resumed her old job at Chupacabra's yet. He suspected she and Spirit had been more serious than anyone had realized, probably keeping it on the low down to spare Maka's feelings. Did Blair know what day it was today, a year after Spirit's death? He caught her tail drooping as she ankled out the window and thought that yes, she probably did, and was putting on a brave face to spare Maka's feelings yet again. Blair and her odd, sometimes aggressive brand of love; he shook his head, smirking to himself. Having her back was a good thing.

"Thanks," Maka said when he slid a plate of pancakes in front of her. She snagged the syrup before he could grab it and doused her breakfast liberally. He retaliated by grabbing her coffee cup and stirring in a few heaping spoonfuls of sugar. She gave the steaming mug a funny look, but took a sip anyway. "Can we go kill something?" she said after a moment.

That was not at all what he'd wanted to do with his Saturday. He sputtered and choked on his overlarge mouthful. "Mmwhaf?" came out at last.

She fixed him with a level emerald stare over her cup. "It's been a year. You don't have to dance around it."

He swallowed, a little painfully, and then sighed, slouching down. "I know. I just- well, I figured I'd let you run it however you wanted today."

"Okay. I want to go take a mission." She stuck the tines of her fork in her last pancake and punctured a neat little line of holes, as carefully as if she were performing surgery. He watched her hands, because they never ceased to amaze him in what they could do. "Please?" she added. Her request wasn't an order, like it might have been a few years ago. She'd softened.

He thought about it for a while, getting a nervous feeling in his chest, because she was staring out the window after Blair as if all she wanted in the world was to slice something to pieces. He prodded at the bond gently, and the familiar sizzle of her bloodlust came through loud and clear. Under that was an equally familiar swamp of grief, but it was no longer like it was. It couldn't pull her under anymore. "You okay?"

She scooted away from the table, stretched, yawned, and flung her crossed legs up on the corner, ignoring his blatant ogling at all the interesting bits the position happened to expose. "I'm not going to run off to China, if that's what you're asking," she teased.

That reminded him of something. "When's Delun coming to visit again, anyway? He and Patty sure got on nicely last time."

She snickered gleefully. "Yeah. He handles crazy pretty well for someone who says he hates it so much. I don't know, like, a few months or something? Whenever Azusa lets him go again."

"Cool." He took another, more careful scan through their resonance and was satisfied. She opened it a little wider, let him examine her motives. She really did just want to get out of the house and release some stress. "I could help you relax if that's what you want," he volunteered, grinning at her.

She made a face at him, but he caught the rough husky ripple of notes that told him she wasn't entirely averse to his plot of staying in bed all day long. "Ummm," she said consideringly, tilting her head back to stare at the walls; they still hadn't painted over Kid's handiwork. Black didn't bother them anymore. "I don't know. I suppose I could be persuaded," she mused, sending him an arch look. He swallowed his final bite and was around the table in an instant, scooping her up and heading to the bedroom as she giggled madly between kisses

* * *

Author's note: That's all, folks! I hope this end satisfied you all, and please let me know what you thought! I am so, so, so grateful for all the wonderful reviews and support I've gotten over the course of this story. You all were so great, and I truly think your reviews have helped my writing, which I'm endlessly grateful for. Thanks so much for reading! It has all meant **so much** to me, to know that people are out there enjoying something I've written.

P.S.: Sooorrrry no lemon. :( It just didn't feel quite organic to this story, and I'm awful at them anyway, so I've changed the rating to reflec that.

P.P.S.: If anyone's interested I have another SoMa story going, my roaring '20s circus AU. Look for 'Dire Circus' under my author profile.


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